


Samson and Delilah

by predatoryfox



Category: Joan Ferguson - Fandom, Wentworth - Fandom, the freak - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 27,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predatoryfox/pseuds/predatoryfox





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearlcaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlcaster/gifts).



How could she have been so careless as to end up here? The white walls, white sheets, everything sickeningly white. As if was as easy as adding white to calm the wild minds this building contained. At least she'd been given a window, even if the glass was frosted. She had thought more than once what a sick joke it was to be given sunlight but without the ability to see the colors of the day. Still, it was better than being surrounded by four bleak walls.

They still wouldn't give her writing implements to keep her busy. She'd been given books. Piles of books, all containing pulp. She always left the titles untouched.  
The seconds ticked by. Each second longer than the last. How long had she been here? How much longer would she be here? By now she knew the routine, each second was planned out for the occupants here. Some here voluntarily, others not. It did not matter your circumstances, because once you were within this building you were looked upon all the same. If you were here, something was broken.  
At first, if she chose to stay in her room they allowed it. Each new occupant needed some time to adjust. Now though, she was forced to participate. Staying in her room was frowned upon. Solitude created depression she was told. Solitude was seen as punishment. Little did they know that being surrounded by others made her feel more alone. She was not as broken. She was merely cracked. They couldn't see that though. They only read her file, and smiled tightly. 

In the first few days she had seethed. She'd paced and muttered and stroked her bandaged hand. When they had locked the door behind her on the first day, after her processing, she had been livid. How far had she fallen to be locked up like a common criminal? She had remained silent, but the force of anger that swelled within her raged until she could contain it no longer. She repeatedly smashed the wall with her fist until she put a hole through it. The orderlies had stormed in like soldiers and assaulted her with a poison that caused her eyes to roll back in her head. It took great concentration while she lay in bed, tucked in like a small child, to consider the benefits of such an outburst. Her body was still, her mind was foggy, but she didn't care. She surprised herself that she didn't care at all, and while her hand throbbed and she was sure it was bleeding, she didn't care about that either. When she'd woken up, her hand had been bandaged and the hole had been puttied over. Now her room sported a white patch, like a band-aid, like her bandaged self.


	2. Chapter 2

Tuesday meant that she would be given a yoga mat and be allowed to venture into fresh air. The enclosed courtyard guaranteed no escapes, but it still meant she could smell the grass and feel the heat of the sun. Downward Dog, Warrior, King Pigeon; she could use this time to steal glances at the other patients around her. Were they drugged? Were they deemed as dangerous as her? Some struggled just to keep balanced, while others were as still as a Japanese lake. The teacher was a volunteer and it was obvious to her that she did not enjoy her time here with those who were quite drugged. Those individuals got placed into yoga class because the drool that escaped their mouths meant they weren't coordinated enough for time in the fitness room. She'd tried the fitness room once, but now she avoided it. It smelled of body odor and the grunts emitted by over-achievers only made her tired. She had chosen yoga because it was quiet, and she could work on her core strength.

She had started a new dose of anti-depressants to go with the mood-stabilizers and now she found she was always hungry and lethargic. The anti-depressants were actually to help with her anxiety. Since being here the panic attacks she had been in control over for many years had again crashed in with a vengeance. Was it any wonder though, when she was stuck in here, that she would feel suddenly overwhelmed by a giant weight crushing her chest? The sedation, the carbs, the forced calm; there were times here when she felt like a cow at a feed yard, sedated and fed until fat and blissed out. 

After yoga was chapel service. She wasn't forced to go to chapel, but it was serene and she could trace the single stained-glass panel behind the podium with her eyes. No one tried approaching her, and no one deemed it important to question her reasoning for her presence. She did not pray to *the* God, or any other God within these four walls. She only let the drugs take over and let her mind go completely blank. The silence, the stillness, the absolute deafening quiet was better than praying. The times she had prayed, no one answered. Now she didn't believe in any higher power, and so imagining being in a forest clearing surrounded by butterflies and a light breeze brought her the same sense of calm that praying seemed to give the others. 

Being contained like a caged animal, doped out, and forced to follow the same path as the others was soul crushing, but Tuesdays weren't so bad.


	3. Chapter 3

Before she'd been brought here, and given the room with the frosted window, the police had taken her to an interrogation room and she'd been shackled to a table. The handcuffs had felt like a straight-jacket. She couldn't move, she couldn't stand up and intimidate. The walls closed in around her and while she wanted to stand proud and show her rage, she felt tired and cold. The questions throw at her were leading, and other than asking for her lawyer, she refused to open her mouth.

They'd called her a monster, accused her of everything under the sun and threatened her with witness accounts. The defamation in the headlines of tomorrow's newspaper would be paramount with that of a mass murderer. **Governor starts fire: responsible for inmate murders.** Her lawyer had basically thrown the book at her. A whole prison yard had seen her come out last from the fire, sooty and confused. The inmates had all witnessed her led away in cuffs, very much like the ones keeping her tied to this room.

Her lawyer didn't understand her motives, but she didn't expect him to. He said the best she could do was to plead not guilty by reasons of insanity. She'd scoffed at that. She certainly was not insane, yet here she was in the room with the frosted window. 

After a shower, there was breakfast and journaling. It was the same every day. The women in her ward were herded into a small room and asked to write about their feelings. Why they thought they were here and what could they do to change their futures once they were back in society. For days on end during this slotted time, she spent the period tapping her pencil on the page and looking at the other women, scribbling down lies to themselves. Surely, the broken in society never had a chance once they got out. This pointless activity was just way to waste time, surely. It was to self-reflect and focus on self-hatred, so that when they went to forced group psychotherapy it would give them an easier time to find things to complain about. She said nothing during group therapy either. There was nothing to say that the psychiatrist hadn't already read from her file.


	4. Chapter 4

Some nights she didn't sleep. She'd count the pockmarks in the drop ceiling, or try very hard to talk to her father. She never heard him in here. She knew he was dead, if she was delusional about any other facts it was not that one. She knew too well that he was long gone from the living. Still, having him close, having someone to be her conscious or a reminder to be her better self was always a comfort. In here, when she had no visitors, she wished she could at least hear his voice, heavily accented and always slightly judgmental. At night, in the dark, she would whisper to herself her father's best advice. The drugs had taken him away from her, she thought. She didn't want to admit to herself that maybe he'd gone because of what she'd done. Maybe becoming someone no better than an inmate had disgusted him to the point of leaving her forever. That thought scared her because then she'd have no one at all. This is why sometimes when she couldn't sleep she'd try with little hope to connect.

In here, she had the option of bringing her own clothes from home, but there was no one to deliver what she have asked for. Instead, she had to wear the same uniform as those who were pulled off the street to cure their brains. Getting dressed every morning revolted her. The food in here had already made the elastic in the sweat pants start to stretch. She wasn't allowed bobby pins or hair product, and so every morning she would plait her hair tightly and shake her head at herself in the mirror. How plain. How un-authoritative. This giantess in tight sweats. Pathetic.

Since she would not participate in group therapy, she'd been mandated to attend private counselling sessions. She had no choice in the matter, since being a patient here required that she show she was initiating steps towards her better, more stable future.  
The psychiatrist tried hard at first to show he was not a threat. A hand in friendship, an offer to talk about her opinion of the place. She didn't trust him within an inch of her life. The facilities were fine, the nurses were fine, everything was just fine. Everything but the fact that she was stuck here indeterminately.  
The shrink asked her why she didn't fill out anything during journaling time. She told him she felt she had nothing important to say, and certainly nothing she wanted to share. The psychiatrist wrote down something and then looked at her earnestly, "do you really believe that?" he'd asked, then passed her a new journal with totally blank pages instead of lines. She'd been asked to fill a few pages however she wanted before they had their next appointment in three days time. She didn't have to write, but she did have to put something down that had to do with her past.  
That night she opened the book, took the pencil crayons she'd asked for and began to draw. By the time she'd put the journal away that night she'd filled a single page. She ripped the page out and stuck it to the bare wall beside her bed. A small shadowy child looked back back at her, his eyes dark and unforgiving.  
She realized she did have something to say, even though she had nothing to share.


	5. Chapter 5

The community room was probably the most dismal place she'd ever witnessed. She generally avoided coming here at all costs, but after an outburst recently that involved throwing a chair at another patient, her mood-stabilizers had been increased. Like most other brain-altering chemicals, it took a few weeks for the side-effects to wear off. In the meantime, she felt like a zombie with a burning in her guts. It was easier to sit on the couch here and stare at the moving mouths on the television than try and struggle through a regular day.  
She hadn't meant to throw a chair, but the frustration had rumbled into an explosion; the clothing, the food and the bleakness of this place had simply caused her to snap. Another patient whose tics sometimes got out of hand just got the better of her, and she'd witnessed the chair fly from her hands before she could stop herself. The goddamn side-effects angered her more than anything. Everything about her was fuzzy around the edges.

A caged street lamp always shone into her room at night. She'd moved the picture of the shadowy child so that the beam landed directly on it. That way, at night, she could stare at it. Unblinking. Why she'd first draw that small child, she was still trying to figure out.  
Many times when she looked at that picture, she knew she was looking at the baby she'd failed. Where he was now, she wished she knew. Other times though, those unforgiving eyes looking back at her were her own. A small child so alone and judged.  
Really, who had she failed more?

After refusing to write out anything during journaling for quite some time, but regularly filling in her private journal with art, she found her fingers finally moving along the page. The prompt was always the same: list some reasons why your past may be linked to your present.  
Her past had made her who she was today, but she did not ever see herself as someone weak. Her past had made her hardened, but it had also ended her up in here.  
Her pencil drifted over the paper slowly, like a spirit was working through her in automatic writing. When she set the pencil down she read the words over and over, finding her lips move silently.  
Regret-Anger-Shame  
Regret-Anger-Shame  
Regret-Anger-Shame  
She'd have work on this in her art journal before lights out.


	6. Chapter 6

She now ate with her elbows on the table. Proper manners had gone out the window long ago. Sometimes when she had her hair down, it would fall forward and for a while she'd have a bit of a sanctuary between her and her meal from the eyes that sometimes stared her down in the cafeteria. By now the more aware ones had figured out who she was. There had been murmurings, but no one ever approached her with questions and for that she was thankful. She wouldn't know what to say other than emit a verbal attack.  
It was easy to shoot down the nurses with their fake cheeriness and condescending comments. They seemed to treat the women in here like frail, but demented, kittens. _Oh, poor things._ A head pat, a head shake; it was maddening.  
In the beginning, when she was drugged out all the time, she was only semi-conscious of how infantilized she was treated, but now she would not allow it. She constantly lived on a very thin edge between civility and backhanded compliments with them. She needed to be treated well, but she also did not put up with being seen as someone who needed to be coddled out of pity.  
How she speaks though to the other patients, almost makes her feel like one of the nurses now, like she is better than them. That's not true though, which only frustrates her. How is she better than them when she's also here and is not sporting some gold star. She has to wait in line sometimes for hours to be given a paper cup full of pills, just like everyone else. She's a social pariah, but in her own head she knows at least she is more clever that most. Even those sporting name tags. If only she had taken different steps, she wouldn't have ended up here in the first place.

In the beginning, when she'd stare down the shadow-child, she'd hear cries from other rooms. It took her a while to figure out that there were a few corrupt clerks in this ward. The mentally weak were easy prey, she knew that, but it also made her sick. Zombies are beyond viable prey. Delusional zombies. There had been a single time later on when a male had unlocked her door in the middle of the night and slipped in. She had pretended she was asleep until she felt a body stand beside her bed, then shot up and kneeled so that she was eye-to-eye. He had his hands on his zipper when he stopped dead to see the rage burning in her eyes. _Not me, not now, not ever. If I hear you again, I *will* kill you and make it look like an accident._ Thankfully, at that time she was no longer in a state of mental fog. How much worse would that have made her time in here? To be marked as a night escapade for free. Still, sometimes at night she still heard the cries and deep inside her guts she starts to feel guilt.


	7. Chapter 7

Sitting across from the psychiatrist, she watched as her journal was reviewed. She felt like she was back at school sometimes during this time. The shrink rarely said much as he browsed. Sometimes he'd nod or frown, but little was commented on. At first she'd been asked if she wanted to discuss what was drawn, but she truly didn't know what to say. By now there were several pictures that repeated themselves over and over, so that her artwork ameliorated.  
During this particular session the shrink had looked up and met her steady gaze. He'd come out and ask who the mouse on fire was. The bones of a mouse in one picture on a pyre, a mouse escaping from the lick of flames in another. At a quick glance, it seemed that she was collecting enough pieces of mouse artwork to start a portfolio. There were other things, sure, but it seemed like the mouse presented itself more and more recently. A small ember of fire burned in her as she said it was no one she wanted to know. She almost let herself say, it was someone who deserved to burn.  
He responded by saying that if it was a person she didn't want to know, they certainly had taken up residence in her mind. "Perhaps you should think about that."  
She'd wanted to reach over and slap him across the face. What did he know? The mouse *did* deserve to burn.

The ward clerk that had made his way into her room had been given day shift for two weeks. He gave her a wide berth but while watching others, it was clear who shied away when he walked past. She made mental note the way each woman reacted to him and also to his body language when he strutted through the ward during their free time. Sometimes he'd stop and talk in a jovial way with another clerk, who she decided must also be in on their evening assaults. While pretending to read in the awful community room, she made a decision. The women in here did not deserve to become prey to those disgusting pigs. Something had to be done about it. She'd given herself a little pet project to keep her busy.

In the daily line-up for medication, she blinked hard and rubbed at her eyes. She was beyond exhausted. She hadn't slept in three nights, but it was purposeful. She'd put awful things under the blankets so that it was impossible to fall asleep. At this point she was slightly delusional, but she knew after today she could finally rest.  
When it was her turn, she was given the little paper cup and asked to do a tongue check. How humiliating was it to stand-in line to get medication she didn't think she needed, and then have two nurses check to make sure she was following directions, like she was some common idiot, like some horse that needed its teeth checked.  
After it was confirmed that she had indeed swallowed, like every previous occasion, she asked the nurse if it would be possible to get some sleeping pills. It was no lie that the walls were paper thin and at times it was difficult to sleep, but she had an ulterior motive. She needed sleeping pills, and she needed a lot of them.


	8. Chapter 8

During group therapy, which she's been forced to return to, a suicide high-flyer cries about her most recent attempt. Her arms are bandaged all the way to the elbow. It seems that she really tried this time, but still failed.  
Really, she thought, how can one fail at ending themselves? This girl is severely lost. Either get it right and get it over with, or stop whining. She caught herself shaking her head in disgust as the girl told her story yet again, like a broken record.  
"Do you have something you'd like to share?" the psychiatrist asked, as she had caught her grimace.  
"Mix pills or hang yourself and spare us all the pity party week in and week out." she crossed her arms and looked away from the psychiatrist's shocked expression.  
That outburst had her yoga privileges removed for two weeks, and a conference about sensitivity and empathy was mandatory. She spent most of the meeting sucking her teeth, much to the chagrin of the well-meaning lecturers.  
She was removed from that group for obvious reasons, which annoyed her. It had finally gotten interesting to see the shocked expressions and cackling of the hens. 

Visitation hour is the same every week day. The PA announces that all patients could now go to the visitation room to be with family and friends. She'd made the mistake to go to the visitation room once and sat at a table. Waiting for a someone, anyone, to come and speak with her. Someone on the outside who did not speak to her with condescension, and could report properly on outside news. There was no access to the internet in here, and newspapers were not always given. Apparently the headlines upset some patients to the point of head bashing. Ridiculous. The world was a bleak and unforgiving place, there was no sense in hiding that fact.  
Of course, no one ever came. She'd walked past the visitation door a few times just to see the others hug their families, but she never went back in. She'd alienated herself from anyone who would ever care to see her, so why should she hold out hope. No point. Not in here. 

She found surprisingly that during free time she now liked to do puzzles. There were dozens of puzzles, all stacked up on a shelf with the board games and cards. Only one other woman, seemed to take part in puzzles and so, for the most part, they remained untouched. There was something very calming about putting all the pieces together. The tinny roar of the television would dull as she could really focus, for once, on an activity that would pass the hours painlessly.   
How they would laugh at her now, to see her small reading glasses perched at the end of her nose as she looked at the box, then back at the table. Sometimes she caught herself poking her tongue out from the corner of her mouth.  
It wasn't long before she was able to just leave her puzzle unfinished on the table, and no one would disturb it. Sometimes other women would stand back and watch her click in piece after piece, but always from a safe distance. She thought perhaps she should ask for puzzle glue. The pictures were awful, but maybe it would cheer up the place to display them on the walls.


	9. Chapter 9

She never expected anything when the volunteer would come around with mail. She hoped maybe something would come; an apology; a get well card; hell, even a death threat. At least something to acknowledge that the outside knew she was stuck in a place that worse than being caged up like an animal behind bars. In there she would have been able to pace and prowl and work her way up to the top of the pack either through fear and violence or with cunning.She may have had attempts to bring her down, down dead, but that did not scare her as much as the fact that within this building she had no challenges at all.  
On a Thursday afternoon, something was thrown on her bed when she was at lunch. She sat the edge of the bed and read the corner of the envelope. A pain went through her. Somehow this came to her. It shouldn't have, but considering this was the only contact since her forced "mental vacation", she sat and stared at the return address. _Barwon Prison_. It must be from him. She took the paper out of the envelope and held it between her fingers for a very long time before putting it back in. She wasn't ready to read what was inside. She had set him up to fail, and now there was no way to correct her errors. This fact made her feel the most useless and weak she had since being here. She went to put her hand up to her bun, like a comfort blanket, but of course it was just the simple ponytail. She hung her head, then leant forward and moaned. _Fuck this place._

She'd been granted permission to acquire pastels. Her art journal now both brought her a great sense of calm, but sometimes a sudden panic would come over her and she would have to resort to drawing the mouse on fire. Why did it cause her such anxiety? The mouse that deserved to burn. She thought back to her journaling: anger - regret - shame. When the anxiety took over and her breath felt restricted, she repeated to herself that feeling regret was below her. She should feel anger, only anger towards something unforgivable. The small, weak mammal had reminder her that her one weakness was her ability to love, and look what that had done. Becoming soft had been her downfall. The heat of her anger she felt through all those years turned her insides to coal, black and sooty, so no shame allowed. To alleviate the anxiety, she drew the mouse but this time instead of being on fire, the eyes of a large cat stool looming behind. The lack of fire made her pick up the orange multiple times and tapped it to the paper. This was the only way to get rid of the tightness. Still. Still. She put the orange back. The mouse looked terrified. That would suffice.

By now she'd cheeked a week's worth of sleeping pills. She'd saved a bit of cellophane from the cafeteria and kept the pills wrapped up tightly on her person in her sock. She wouldn't need more than that, she figured. She would probably need some muscle relaxants, but to ask for more pills didn't seem like a good idea. Not yet.  
There were obviously no sharps bins in her ward. Having needles laying around was dangerous, even with semi-functional zombies around. She knew though, that when there was the line-up for medication, those patients with diabetes were given their insulin at the nurses' station, then the nurse would throw the needle under the counter.  
For a week she watched as the nurse waited for at least twenty seconds to make small-talk with the patient before throwing the empty needle in the bin. If there happened to be an acute distraction before the nurse got to toss the needle, it could easily be swiped off the counter.  
Now to think of a distraction that would not involve her.


	10. Chapter 10

The loneliness had finally pustuled into an ugly boil. It had taken time, but she finally admitted to herself that she felt abandoned by the world in behind these brick walls. For someone who had always relied and reveled in detachment, it hurt to admit. With the same thing day in and day out, with no budge in schedule, it was beginning to make her feel genuinely insane. Like she needed to be strapped to a table to save her from herself. How many more days of this monotony? How much more could her brain take before it began to actually rot like fruit in the sun. Worst of all, the medication she was forced to take made her feel unlike herself, and regardless of how it had shifted her brain chemistry into something more "manageable", she hated what she'd become. The sleeping pills in her sock began to cross her mind more often than they should.  
There had been times once she was settled that she allowed herself to be open and somewhat vulnerable in concentration at the puzzle table, that those more curious and without social grace had come right out and asked if she'd really murdered, if she was a bona-fide arsonist. She'd looked up from her work with thin lips and stared into them hard. If she was seen as a curiosity in this side show, she wouldn't even bother trying to fumble through awkward small talk just so that she had someone to talk to, even if it was just about the weather.

Her journal was now starting to fill up with raw paragraphs about her past. Whether it was intentional or not, whether it was the utter boredom that forced her there, she started to piece together why she always felt so angry. Lately she'd been more tired than angry, but the chemicals were to blame for that.  
She had listened in group therapy so many times about emotional abuse, and how toxic relationships were often the cause of self-hatred and cyclical abuse. She always scoffed at that because she had always been tough. She was a soldier and a soldier was not weak-willed or swept up in emotional battle. Still, small dents in her armor had added up regardless of its impenetrability.  
Perhaps that was why she was very slowly starting to see the similarities between herself and the mouse with whom she still could not come to feel anything for but rejection and betrayal. The psychiatrist had not been wrong. For someone she supposedly hated, and she did, the mouse certainly had taken up permanent residence in a small part of her.  
It just seemed that abuse could either crush someone and force them to seek out more of the same because it's what they needed to understand their self-worth, or abuse could morph a person into a destroyer of others' senses of well being just to claw back at the power they'd been without.  
In a flash of recognition, she understood why the mouse had been drawn to her in the first place. She had taken the matriarchal place for guidance. She was the same as the mouse's abuser, only with the potential for an unknown, possibly better outcome. The mouse had seen a substitute and hooked in.  
How the mouse could have betrayed her though, still bewildered her. She understood doing things for the greater good better than anyone, but how could the mouse cut so deep? How badly had she hurt her the mouse to make her lash out?  
That night, she took out her pencils and drew the mouse. It was not scared and it was not on fire, it simply looked back blankly. She did not want to be the matriarchal replacement. It never was her intention to be seen like that! Had it?  
She shook her head fiercely and erased the drawing forcefully enough to rip the sheet. She threw the sketch pad under her bed and gritted her teeth. The eyes of the shadow child burned into her. The mother and the mouse. Two small-framed women that were just looking for a kind hand. How could things have gone so differently?  
Anger-shame-regret.


	11. Chapter 11

She'd slipped the envelope into the waistband of her pants before going to chapel. Maybe being in a place of forgiveness would change what was inside that letter. She needed connection and in that envelope there certainly was connection, even if it meant it would be for the last time. She sat on the hard wooden bench at the front. A sunbeam from the single widow pane shone a rainbow at her feet, which she retracted from, tucking her legs under her. The envelope, now quite worn with a fold down the middle, was pulled out and she looked at it. She slipped the letter out and opened it while staring at the stained glass. She expected the plain lined paper to set fire to her fingers, but there was no heat, so with a deep breath she looked down.

 _They've put fake joints in me. They won't last long and I'm reduced to an invalid with a cane in a prison. You know as well as I do what they do with weak prey._  
_Being shot in the knees puts me in line with being traitor. Who did I betray? Who did the betraying?_  
_They put fake joints in me and before long I'll be dead. I should have done it right the first time, or I should have died that night._  
_You're no better off than I am. I do hope they have you drugged so badly that you're unaware of where you are. It'll be your end too. An end I'm not so sure you don't deserve._  
_Don't contact me._  
_Nils_

The letter dropped from her fingers and fell to the floor. The first thought that came to her was that it was not her fault that he had messed up. She had paid him to do his job correctly, and up until then he always had done it correctly. Who had betrayed who?  
Her hand fluttered to her mouth.  
_They stuck a needle in my neck._  
Her first thought then was that it was not her fault either. She was just a bystander to others faults.  
She stood and left the letter on the ground. She could not bear to touch it. Their connection was now severed. Her loyal man was lost.  
She went back to her room, dug the cellophane from her sock and shook four of the seven pills into her hand. She was so tired. So very tired.  
Her loss of control had made it all her fault.

 _They stuck a needle in my neck._  
_You know as well as I do what they do with weak prey._  
_Who betrayed who?_

She swallowed those pills dry and laid down in her bed, shivering although it was not cold.


	12. Chapter 12

She woke up in a strange room and found that her arms were shackled to the bed. Her legs were free, but she found that even trying to move them was like swimming in deep molasses. Even turning her head to the side was like moving in slow-motion. She ran her tongue over her lips, cracked and aching. The drugs hadn't worked. They weren't strong enough. She had known in a small part of her that it wouldn't work. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to live either at that point after reading that letter. The only person in the whole world she had considered a friend blamed his impending murder on her, then cut her off. Clipping a wire of connection that had been strong for decades.  
When the small blue pills had dropped into her palm they were calming, welcoming. It was a mistake to make sleeping pills a calming blue. They had made her feel like walking into an ocean and opening her mouth to the salt water until things went black. Instead she'd swallowed those pills dry and instead of wetness rolling into her lungs, it had been dry powder sticking to the back of her throat.  
A nurse approached her and shook her head while she began writing on a clipboard. The look of disappointment triggered her brain to want to lash out, but everything was slowed down. The best she could do was narrow her eyes at the nurse, looking so disgusted with the woman who wasn't brave enough to try and face a new day.  
The mattress under her was thin and uncomfortable. She just wanted a drink of water and the restraints off, but instead she said nothing. She would not ask for a shred of help. She waited until the nurse left before she shook her wrists against the metal bed frame. Here she was on suicide watch. This certainly would never be happening again. She had to stay strong from now on. She only had herself to rely on and she needed to start taking action to make her stay here more than a slow decay.

A new girl had been admitted to her ward. This girl was certainly in here for reasons similar to her own, she could tell. The girl might be crazy, but she was very clever. Sometimes when the staff were calmed into thinking it would be an easy day, the girl would start throwing things just to get the rest of the patients riled up. Once, while the girl was sitting at a table beside hers at the cafeteria, she had shoved her spoon down her throat violently until she started to gag, and threw up over their trays of two fellow patients who wouldn't pass off their desserts. The next day the desserts were given without being asked for.  
These actions made the girl a wild card, because while she did impulsive things, she also spent time in the community room doing the Sunday crosswords to completion and spending a lot of time reading the outdated medical journals that were recently donated. More than once in the first few days, several orderlies had to drag the new girl away, each holding an arm or leg as she screamed foul, filthy things. Once while they dragged her past, the girl had winked at her, all the while shouting obscenities.  
One day while the girl was reading a medical journal, she came over and sat beside her with puzzle box on her lap. With a shy smile she looked over and casually mentioned that the book looked difficult to understand.  
The girl closed it quickly and looked at the puzzle box.  
"Want help?"  
She'd easily be able to get that needle behind the nurses desk now. She'd found her nice little distraction.


	13. Chapter 13

She'd let enough time pass between being shackled like some kind of imprisoned circus animal, to know she'd be able to ask for muscle relaxants. She did enough yoga that she was generally pretty comfortable and loose, but she found if she clenched her teeth as hard as possible for hours on end, it would cause her neck muscles to become like steel. They were fairly generous with simple muscle relaxants that couldn't do any major damage, and so whenever she approached a nurse and pointed to her neck, the nurse would quickly come back to her with two small pills. One she'd swallow, one she'd cheek. Sometimes she'd swallow both because she'd go overboard with clenching and the steel neck would turn into a pounding behind her eye. It had become a fairly easy game to manipulate the small hard disks in her mouth and see how quickly she could hide it. They rarely asked her to open her mouth for simple over-the-counter stuff, but just in case she'd perfected the art.  
She still had three blue sleeping pills that she now hid in a small open seam in her mattress, and now she was putting together what was the equivalent of a horse tranquillizer in muscle relaxants. The predatory orderly was back on night shift. Many times she'd wait in the dark with her eyes open, listening to the protests and the the tell-tale quiet that would soon follow. His time would come. Justice would be served and she would be one to do it. She had to wait for the right time though. She had a plan.  
The teeth clenching and still neck was now also an excuse to have the new girl come stand behind her and work her muscles. She'd give the new girl, Johanna, a look and Johanna would come over and stick her wild, damaged fingers into her shoulders and all the while, bitch and complain about the garbage that played on the television.  
She revelled in the touch, and even though it hurt, it was still contact and the fact that she welcomed it was at times shocking. The first time, she had been trying to work on her own neck, and Johanna had put down her crossword and came around behind her and began stretching out the tight muscles. She didn't ask if it was okay, she just started up and after a while, stopped and went back to her crossword. She never acknowledged that it was something odd to do without permission, and neither of them spoke of it. Only a request with the eyes was now needed. It had become an occasional thing and although Johanna was always too rough because she did not realize her own strength, the clenching still continued even though she didn't need any more relaxants in her stash.

One one particular day, while Joanna stood behind her in the community room, the regular talk show had been changed to the news. Not a common occurrence, but when a voice came on the television, her eyes snapped open. She stared ahead and immediately the tightness in her chest clenched. The mouse was speaking at a podium. The mouse with black bags under her eyes and her uniform slightly dishevelled. What had happened to her? She turned her ears off so because she couldn't bear to hear the voice. She wanted to stand up and leave the space, but Joanna put her hands on her shoulders and squeezed, so her only option was to stare and try to figure out the swirling emotions in her. It had been so long since she'd seen the mouse and not simply drawn the animal in a state of seething anger or confusion, that she'd forgotten subtle things about her. The anger rose and fell, the loneliness tried to take over, and for a brief second, confusing as it was, she wished that Joanna's fingers in her shoulders were that of the sad, tired mouse.


	14. Chapter 14

One night while holding a hunk of charcoal and swiping the strokes that were managing to transform itself into a dark and dangerous looking saber, a light bulb illuminated itself in her frontal lobe and she stopped dead in her tracks to put the sketch pad down on her lap. She realized she already had her distraction, but she would have to test her mettle to see if she would be worth her time and effort. She was anything but naive in knowing that Johanna could be playing the same long game she was. She'd never asked Johanna why she was in the psychiatric hospital, although it was clear that her behavior was the reason. Her genius was only well-hidden but to those who recognized themselves in her eyes. She didn't even want to know if Johanna's reason was a similar to hers. There were times when she caught the micro expressions of a conscious planner, and of someone with great capability of using her for her own benefit.  
She'd have to pick the right time to test Johanna, and what she truly needed were newer medical texts than the ones that lay dusty and outdated in the community room. Johanna was the only one who ever looked at them, and therefore it made sense that Johanna be the one to ask for what she needed. She knew better than to approach a nurse and ask for a medical text on drugs and drug reactions, when she had knowingly overdosed in the very recent past. Johanna had no known drug history, beyond what she was prescribed and took them with careful obedience. It only made sense that Johanna's first task would be to ask for the medical journals. She needed to know how much of her pill stash needed to be crushed and added to a solution.

She'd never gone to Johanna's room before. She hadn't had the need. She liked her company, but she did not go seeking it. People came to her and never the other way around. When she approached the door, she found it ajar and pushed it slowly open. Johanna sat on her bed in an undershirt and men's briefs, both grey to match the bland comforter on her bed. Her flat chest needn't a bra, and the cold air poked the tight skin against cotton. Her hands were above her head and her eyes squinted shut in concentration. She seemed to be trying to put in a plait, but was failing miserably.

  
Joan approached slowly and sat at the end of the bed. The second the mattress gave way under her weight, Johanna's eyes shot open and glared.

  
"I didn't hear you come in, and I hear everything."

  
She said nothing and pulled a leg under her.

  
"What do you want?" Johanna's hands went back up into her hair, trying to wind the three lengths through each other.

  
She again said nothing, but stood and moved behind Johanna, sitting again and putting her hands up to begin helping. Pulling the hair tight with each new knot.  
"Who said I wanted something. Can't I come visit you?"

  
Johanna scoffed and went to remove her hands, but she held tight.

  
"You have never touched me, nevermind doing something nice for me. Spill. What do you want?"

  
She continued plaiting quietly until she came to the very end.

  
"I need some new medical journals." She held out her hand for an elastic and wound it round the frayed hairs at the tail.

  
There was a silence before Johanna spun around and grabbed her by the wrist, biting her cold eyes into her.

  
"I see, and what do I get out of this? I'm not your dog."

  
She almost stood up and left. She half expected to be asked for something in return, but she was unsure if she wanted to be indebted or give away a part of herself to someone she would have to see for the foreseeable future, especially when there was no way to avoid them.

  
"It depends on what you want," she replied coolly. She stood and looked down at the waif in her bed, looking somewhat like a child getting ready to lie down for a nap in her undergarments. That waif though was a mongoose and there was no doubt about it. She would have to hold her cards close to her chest.

  
"What do you need the medical journals for?"

  
"I need to know more about water solubility. That's all. For my own purposes. You need not concern yourself with what I will do with that information."

  
Johanna sucked her teeth and looked her up and down slowly in a way that she'd never looked at her before. It made her involuntarily swallow hard.

  
"You won't need that. I used to be a pharmacist. I'll tell you whatever you need to know." She smiled in a way that both interested and worried her. "You want it for that orderly, don't you."

  
She found that her lip twitched. She couldn't reciprocate the smile, even if it was fake.

  
"How can I trust you? How do I know, even now, after we have this," she paused, "this relationship, that you won't try and pull something. I can see through you. You're clever and wild."

  
Johanna smiled and ran her hand over her perfectly plaited hair.

  
"You have no choice."


	15. Chapter 15

It turned out Johanna was way more complex that she thought. She assumed what Johanna would want in return would be something physical, or to get her something tangible from the outside. What she wanted to know, what she wanted from her in exchange for the medical information, was to hear about exactly why she was behind these four walls instead of behind a cage door. She balked at that. She was still unsure why she'd been caught and why she had decided to go with her lawyer's advice, when she'd been so careful and meticulous in her planning.

  
She'd asked why it was so important. What else could she give instead of her own personal information as an exchange, but Johanna held steadfast and firm. No information, no exchange. It was simple as that.

  
"I know you killed someone," was all Johanna would allow when she tried to convince her to accept something else instead of her personal information and actions.

"I feel like you did it with your own two hands. Am I right?" She smirked with a strange muscle tension just under her eyes. "I feel like I'm right. I want to know what it's like to feel the life drain out of someone's eyes. To be responsible for ending a heartbeat. I've wanted to kill people loads of times. Loads of times. I've just never had the courage."

She realized that Johanna would never budge, and at the same time it felt slightly cathartic to realize she could divulge her actions to someone who wouldn't judge her. Or would she judge her? If someone was criminally insane, shouldn't they be unaware of their actions? Blissfully unaware that their actions were wrong? She'd had a breech in mental acuity, yes, but she was clearly always very aware of what her hands were doing, what her mouth said and what her brain thought. She's just been too hell-bent on the end result that certain details had been fuzzy.

  
It was very possible if she told Johanna the full truth, she would be dragged back for a re-trial. She would not be a pony on show again. It was too awful to be looked at by so many eyes, making a decision about her future without her consent.

She'd returned to Johanna's room after a group counselling session, one where she'd spent the entire session using mono-syllabic contributions in order to focus on the impending task, and waited outside her door until she showed.

  
"I'll tell you," she said in a hard tone. "I'll tell you whatever you want, but I need you to do one more thing for me."

  
Johanna let her in and held her hand out to the bed.

  
"Please, sit," she'd asked graciously. It was in a tone held for inviting guests into your home, perhaps to a dinner party, when really the only invitation was to sit on grey comforter of a cheap, thin mattress. Same as hers.

  
She sat at the edge of the bed, but Johanna asked her to sit in the middle, facing the head of the bed. She didn't question it, and did so, but was taken aback slightly as Johanna crawled onto the bed and sat knee to knee with her, staring her down with that same acute muscle tension under her eyes.  
"Did you use your hands?" Johanna asked, quickly and with eagerness.

  
With a large swallow, she nodded, then exhaled a large gust of air. "I did. I squeezed and grunted and watched the life drain out of that little bitches eyes until her body hung in my hands like a sandbag."

  
"Did you start that fire like the paper said?" Johanna's breathing had quickened.

  
Her eyes widened. Johanna knew who she was the whole time. The whole time and she pretended not to. She just wanted to hear it, and it was not unapparent that her eyes had dilated and her chest puffed in and out like she had just come in from a quick run.

  
"Tell me more," she'd purred. "Tell me you enjoyed it."

She'd told her everything she wanted to know about the final weeks leading up to her arrest. At times she felt disgusted with herself for the things she'd admitted to, which was a new feeling for her. Perhaps it was because she had yet to admit out loud to quite a lot of what she was capable of and had acted on, and had yet still been caught. It was an odd predicament to feel disgraced with herself but also now somehow proud of her actions because of Johanna's facial expressions and her involuntary physical reactions to what she was being told. It made her feel powerful again to have someone get off on the violent, manipulative and clever things she'd done. How odd. How erotic and odd.

  
When she'd finished her tale, Johanna had let out a strangled breath and closed her eyes for a second. She was unsure what had just happened, but speculated. She said nothing, because immediately after, Johanna dug out a notepad and asked what drugs she had and what reaction she needed to cause.  
Johanna had promised to cause a scene at the nurses station so that she could acquire a hypodermic needle. Johanna had only agreed if she could be witness to the orderly's downfall. She learned that Johanna had on two very recent occasions, had the same orderly peek into her room at night, but did not enter. It was now only a matter of time, and she wanted to be part of the plucking of his tongue.


	16. Chapter 16

Before lights out, days after she had confirmed an ally in her plot for justice, she took out her art journal and poured over the pages within. If there was anything good about being an unwilling patient, she certainly had improved her artistic talents. They trusted her now with all sorts of art mediums. She was allowed to use her small allowance to ask for paintbrushes, and gouache, and had saved up for an expensive set of pencil crayons. She'd wanted oil paints, but they said she'd need access to turpentine and that was just not allowed. She had to leave the supplies at the clerk station, but she was allowed to take them out during allotted times and take them back to her room in a little cardboard box marked with her room number on the side.

  
Instead of going to chapel now, she would use the silent time to turn to self-improvement. She still had not figured out how to get good natural light in the room, but in a concrete box with a frosted window, it was probably an impossible task. She wished they'd allow her an easel, but apparently it could be used as a weapon. She'd visibly rolled her eyes when they'd said that. Anything could be used as a weapon, she'd almost said. She knew better than to say that though, since throwing a chair she'd clearly shown that she could use anything as a weapon if she so chose. Instead, she sat on the floor with her back to the bed and tried to use the sunlight and small lamp with the shade removed, to shine a proper light onto her sketch pad.

  
She drew the mouse less and less lately, but that did not mean that the little thing took up any less residence in her mind. Now, while drawing or painting, she would use that time to go over conversations they'd had and tried to dissect where it had all gone wrong. Now, every Tuesday while her hand flew over the page, she thought about how things could have been different. At times her mind became a kind of "pick your own adventure" book where different scenarios could have played out, and perhaps she would have never been here at all and felt the ever-burning sting of betrayal.

  
Not often, and usually only for a fleeting second, she would think about tearing out a page of her art and sticking it in an envelope. Sometimes the flash thought would have her send the envelope to one prison, sometimes to another. "Look what I've done", it would shout wordlessly. "I wanted to share this with you". She hated to think it, she didn't want to think it, but it would also soundlessly display a tiny, "I miss you".

  
Tuesdays were still her favourite day of the week, but sometimes would cause her distress. Finding a new creative outlet where she showed skill had allowed her mind to quietly re-piece itself like the puzzles in the community room, and with each clicked piece a part would clear and she would better understand herself. It was something like fencing, but less less intensity, and therefore more room for her thoughts to breathe. 

A small change that she found necessary was what to do with her hair. Her comfort, the odd security the felt from the tight clenched look of her bun needed a return. The rotating trio of hairstyles were fine, but she missed being able to reach back and touch the hard, round knob that adorned the back of her head. There was a pittance in self-inflicted pain that she needed to keep her in check when her heavy locks were scrapped back.

  
In group therapy, there was a girl that always had a bun it. It looked more ballerina than she'd like for herself, but it was something, and it didn't look like she used the dozens and dozens of hair pins needed to keep something like that up. She'd never talked to her before. The girl was a dimwit, and clearly mentally unstable, but she did have a purpose.

  
During a particularly boring session where she decidedly had said nothing of great importance, she'd forced a smile and nod while the ballerina girl shared her information. Afterwards she casually approached her in the hall and walked in step down the hall to the cafeteria.

  
She'd complimented the girl, with a wisp of a touch on her arm.

  
"How on Earth do you get your hair like that? How did they let you use product to make it look so nice?"

  
The girl had blushed and reached up to touch the bulb upon her scalp and spilled all her secrets.

  
She'd huffed in surprise when she'd been given the trade secret of her much missed hairstyle. It was surprising what things women would think up.  
The next morning, she had ripped up then rolled up a sock and made herself her own, slightly less ballerina style bun. When she'd ask a clerk for a misting bottle "just for water" one was shockingly produced.

  
She pocketed some sugar packages from the cafeteria at breakfast and in her room made her own little homemade hairspray. Who knew that a sock, and sugar water could create something somewhat similar to the severe bun she missed. When she'd flattered every wild hair that curled up at her temples, and attempted to make herself more into the beast she knew, the corner of her lip curled ever so slightly. It may have been the first real smile out of her since she was put here.  
When Johanna eyed her walking into the cafeteria at dinner that day, their eyes connected and the other corner that had not turned up the first time in the mirror found itself turning up too, just like both sides were hooked with fishing line. She could walk now with her head held a little higher.


	17. Chapter 17

On a Monday afternoon, she’d made the decision to begin taking meticulous mental notes to track the corrupted ward clerk’s every move. She tracked his schedule from the moment he arrived on shift until she was forced to enter her room at lights out. Even then, she stood behind her door for hours on end to listen with strained ears. She found that if she stood at a certain angle she could see a sliver of the hallway but no one could look in to see her. This meant she had a spying advantage as he did his rounds while the head nurse was still on the desk. The small window into the late hours let her work on her plan and mentally visualize how things would unfold.

  
Earlier in the week she’d walked the halls alone, taking different length strides from the desk to each room and measuring how many steps were needed. This task was so that she could hear the click of his heels patrolling the halls and know whose room he’d entered. Most staff wore soft soled shoes but not him, and for that she was thankful. By being able to use her senses, and by looking into the eyes of the women the next morning, she’d remarked how simple it was now to know who’d been victimized.

  
His name tag sported an easy nickname, “Jimmy”, as if a boyish moniker covered-up what he was. He generally wore a tight smile painted on his face, his scrubs purely white and unmarked. Just by looking at him, one would never guess the dark deeds and thoughts that this man was capable of. He was not particularly unattractive, but there was nothing remarkable about him. A man who had fallen into a job where he was seemingly capable, and had no interest in moving up the ladder. It was obvious to her now that he stayed as a subordinate so that he’d have easier access to his little hobby.

  
He arrived on the ward a little early for his shift each evening, sometimes carrying an extra coffee for the head nurse on night shift. He was a charmer, sometimes overly saccharine with the patients, and that’s what bothered her the most. It seemed that the staff understood the fact that many patients shied away from him was the fact that he was a man of formidable size, not because they were terrorized by his quiet words and actions when there were no other eyes upon him.  
Starting on that Monday afternoon, she would meet his slightly tentative looks while they passed in the hallways and slowly smile.

  
“James”, she’d purr.

  
Her art book now also harboured a list of names of all the women whom she planned on speaking with. She’d pass her messages along through Johanna, of course, but she’d need these women to know that sooner than later, the power dynamic within these walls in the midnight hours would be shifting.

  
She loved having her own little secret, and it gave her a sense of power.


	18. Chapter 18

The list of names counted eight. Eight women in the ward that she felt she needed to avenge. Eight frail minds that either didn’t realize they had a voice to say no, or were either too scared to see that they had an option to fight back. She didn't think to take into consideration that perhaps some had fought back and failed.  
At times she had to tell herself that it was for these women she was going about this plan, and not for herself. She should consider herself lucky that regardless of her reasons for being here, and her mental status, she still knew that a patient could not give consent. She’d been told by multiple professionals that her sense of right and wrong was deeply warped, but she knew for sure that doing this service would count for something, even if it meant she felt he would pay for merely thinking about mistreating her. She’d lived long enough feeling like a victim due to circumstance or fear and had sworn long ago that it would never happen to her again.  
There had been two other names on the list, but with careful deliberation she decided to scratch them out with heavy black lines. The human condition never ceased to be a mystery to her, and her anger at those two names made her wonder why some would allow themselves to be de-humanized.  
Johanna had relayed that those two names, when questioned, had had nothing but nice things to say about having an uninvited visitor stand over them while they slept. They had said, in not so many words, that it made them feel special and wanted. She’d shaken her head that anyone would be that desperate, even though she knew a thing or two about loneliness, and so no further information was provided. She decidedly turned her back on them. She would offer assistance only the once, and if they decided to change their minds it would already be too late.

  
Now while seated beside Johanna in the cafeteria, there were times where some from the list of names delivered subtle head nods and thins smiles, when before she’d been nothing but looked at with tentative interest or not at all. Of the eight names, some didn't understand much other than they’d been receiving unwanted attention that needed to be stopped, but others who lived here in a mostly lucid state, had a glimmer of hope about them now. She’d yet to talk to a single one of them, and yet there was a secret understanding, although payment not delivered, that she would be the one that would deliver them from evil.

The elastic waistband on the grey uniform she donned day in and day out was only minutely looser now that she’d consciously been eating less and avoided trying to fill her emptiness and boredom with carbs and fat. She’d never been one to find solace with food, and thankfully now that her medication had been adjusted in such a way that she aware and lucid of what she shovelled into her mouth, she made better choices. She’d much rather starve herself slightly, than continue down down the path so many women in here had gone: fat, tired with sallow skin from an iron deficiency. It was depressing enough to feel like she had no choice in what she wore, but to look bloated and overweight only made it worse. She’d never cared much what others thought of her appearance, but still was still a proud woman, even if vanity did not enter the picture.

  
She’d had more than a passing thought lately that she’d really like to be able to bring in some clothes from home, to fit in at least more outwardly now that she’d gained some respect and had others look upon her in reverence. Sure, he'd been able to recapture some of the fierceness she felt now that she could scrape her hair back from her face, but the rest of her still needed minor readjustments. She felt that it was time to start looking human again, instead of an embarrassment to her family name. With a soft chuckle to herself, joining her pained expression, she knew if her father saw her now he'd tell her to make an effort because there was absolutely no excuse to look as she did.

  
Anyone she thought to ask though surely would hang up the second her voice uttered a word through the phone line. She’d have to put much thought on who owed her favours, because she felt it was time to cash in a few. To feel something other than the cheap polyester-cotton blend against her skin would be blissful.


	19. Chapter 19

Some days later, she’d found herself sitting with her back to the television set, working on a new puzzle and also keeping an eye out for young James, who had just started shift. He predictably went to the bathroom ten minutes into his shift, talked with the attractive redheaded nurse after that, and then began walking the halls.  
She easily got the border clicked together before Johanna came in and sat down beside her. When she met her eyes, she noticed they looked slightly jittery, as if Johanna couldn’t control the speed at which she looked back and forth.

  
“It’s nystagmus. Just don’t. They put me on some stronger anti-psychotics and apparently this is a rare side-effect. Everybody’s been staring and I’m so fucking doped out that I can’t will myself to care. I was cheeking last week just to try and feel different, but I got caught yesterday and now this.” Johanna pointed at her face and then leaned forward and let her head rest on the table.

  
She continued to scan the table for pieces to put into place and stayed silent for a few minutes, swirling the thought around her head that this less dangerous version of Johanna may be unable to perform and that thought put her in a mild panic. She enjoyed having a right-hand in here, but if that hand became limp, it would need to be cut off.

  
“You’re going to need to get better at hiding your meds.” She finally said in an even low tone.

  
“I’m too tired.”

  
“That’s not the issue if you’re too tired or not. You’re weak and useless right now, aren’t you? What will it take for you to get yourself out of this? You’re better than this. You’re so smart you shouldn’t even be in here. What will it take for you to get yourself back into form?”

  
“Not now.”

  
Johanna put both her hands palms down on each side of her head and let out a defeated sigh, which made her strategically reach out and grasp Johanna’s small hand in hers.

  
“Your anger is what makes you special. Regain it.” She knew she was doing this in a way that could be interpreted as manipulation because she needed a bribe, but she was always one to use what she had to get what she wanted. She took Johanna’s hand and brought it to her lips and gave it a chaste kiss.  
“What can *I* do to help you with this?”

  
She let go and returned to her puzzle with slight detachment. She was listening and watching to see what Johanna would say or do and saw that Johanna had pulled the kissed hand to her lap and looked down at it quizzically with her buzzing eyes.

  
“Get it together, Johanna.” she took a deep breath and forced out the next sentence, “I need you.”

Early the next morning she sat down at her designated therapy time in the small dead-aired office with her art journal.  
She’d formed a civil but tense relationship with the new psychiatrist that had been slotted in to do a job share with the other shrink who’d visibly started to fray around the edges with a mental burnout.

  
“What are we talking about today?”

She flipped through her journal a few times then stopped suddenly and opened it wide.

  
“What repercussions could I face if I decided to re-engage in a relationship with…?” she tapped at a picture of a mouse, perched on haunches and staring out.  
“Well, that depends on how you decide to reopen it, and what you need out of that decision.”

  
She remained quiet, then flipped to a new page, this time with a mouse and a mongoose then shut the book.

  
“Based on how the relationship ended, I understand that I will gain nothing from reaching out. I could, however, further damage the other individual and possibly myself.”

  
“Interesting you say that. Any particular reason you feel you need to potentially damage another person for your benefit if you state you will get nothing from it?"

  
She remained quiet for a long time, holding the psychiatrist's gaze in a battle of wills. Neither chose to look away first, and this is why she found him more engaging than the others.

  
“Let me rephrase that. Why are you choosing, after filling that book, that now is the right time to contact this individual?”

  
“I don’t know.” it was barely above a whisper.

  
This was not completely true, but she knew that her decision had come from a place of desperation. She needed someone to do something for her and she didn’t know who else to ask. The Mouse had hurt her deeply, and she was still revengeful and pained in thinking of her, but at the same time, it had been the one relationship in years where she had felt trustful of someone. Trustful before the rug had been pulled from under her, but there still had been a bond that could not be denied.

  
“I see.”

  
He began writing a few things down in his pad which made her irritated. She was fumbling through this which was not generally how things went. She wanted a straightforward answer that results would be either A or B if she went ahead with picking up a phone and asking for assistance.

  
“I’m not going to just tell you what you want to hear. That’s not what I’m here for.”

  
He looked up from his pad and raised his eyebrows. “If you feel you can live with your decision if this goes poorly, then go ahead with it. If you think this will cause you to fill up yet another book with pictures of that rodent all the while refusing the properly delve into why, then I’m not sure it’s such a wise decision.”

  
She decided to end the session early and stood up.

  
“Understood. I have nothing further to discuss.”

  
She left the office and closed the door sharply behind her. She was annoyed with herself for her unclear answers and at him for being right.

  
She walked straight to the community room and sat down to watch the news. It was as if the Gods were giving her a sign because on the screen was The Mouse, looking put-together and well-spoken, giving a speech to the press about the positive things that were being implemented at the prison under her Governorship.  
With the disheveled look gone and a confident smile plastered to her face, she looked like a different beast all together. The Mouse now had sharper teeth it seemed, and even though her soft face still held vulnerability, it was stronger and perhaps more ready to receive a phone call from someone she'd considered an enemy. The new change of body language and facial expressions made her extremely curious as to when this change occurred.

  
Johanna, still sluggish but looking to apologize for it, has come over to rub her shoulders and she allows it for a few minutes with acute irritability before shaking her off and standing up.

  
“I need to make a call.”

  
She knew the number to the prison was on her Do Not Call list, but she had memorized The Mouse's home number long ago. She lets it ring, 5-10 times, figuring no one will answer, but then there is a click and silence.

“Don’t hang up. Hear me out.”

  
The phone did not click on the handset but there was still a long silence. “You sound different.”

  
“I need your help.”

  
“Fine, you have two minutes and then I’m hanging up whether you’re done or not.”

  
She wanted to tell her that’s not how it would work, that’d she'd say her entire piece, but she bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing instead. She rarely asked for anything from anybody, and this would be an act in total self-restraint and allowing her request to be in the small, hopefully capable hands of The Mouse.  
Three minute has passed, she’s kept her eye on the second-hand of the clock above the phone. She’s said what she’s wanted and then was silent. There was a faint clicking on the line, and realizes The Mouse must be drumming her nails on the receiver.

  
There was a twinge of a smirk in her voice, “you’ve seriously been wearing a grey sweatsuit this entire time? How the mighty have fallen.”

  
She opened her mouth to start an attack, she did not like her tone, but then The Mouse spoke up,  
“Fine. Fine. I don’t like it, but fine. This is the one and only favor you’re ever to ask of me. I’m only doing this because I know you have no one else. Understood?”  
“Yes, Vera. I'll send you a letter with further instructions.”

  
She put the phone back down without waiting a confirmation and sat down hard on the chair beside the handset.

  
"Vera...." She hadn't allowed that name to escape her lips since the fire.


	20. Chapter 20

During her whole time as an in-patient, she’d had her lawyer make sure to transfer fees for her mortgage so her house remained in her possession. It gave her hope that a familiar place could remain under her name, even though she was unsure how long it would be before she could go home. Sometimes she sat and thought for a moment, wondering how much dust had accumulated on surfaces, and what shapes could be found shiny and clean when items were picked up. She had weighed the decision on getting someone to go in and clean while she was absent, but then figured it wouldn't make a difference, and she didn't want a stranger in her surroundings when she was unable to follow behind.

She sat down at the small desk in her room to write up a list for Vera, itemizing each thing she wanted brought and where it could be found within her bedroom. She did not sign her name, she did not write down Vera’s name, and so it seemed that it might have well been a packing list for a vacation. She’d slipped the list into an envelope with the phone number of her lawyer who held a set of her keys, then deposited it on the counter of the nurses’ station. 

As she carried her yoga mat under her arm to the courtyard that same day, Johanna had come up alongside her.

“I'm going to get a visitor,” she casually mentioned.

Johanna’s buzzing eyes kept hers for a moment before looking away, but it was obvious that her jaw clenched tight in anger.

“I’ll see you at lunch.” she walked on ahead, but then turned and smiled, “oh, and if you go to my room you’ll see that I traded for a pair of sunglasses for you. If you’d like them, they’re yours. I figure you’d appreciate being able to hide,” she paused, then moved her hand near her eyes, “all that.”

As she continued down the hall she stopped for a second to look over her shoulder to see Johanna heading back down to their wing. She’d find the cheap sunglasses, but she’d also find a duplicate itemized list with Vera’s name underlined at the top, and her sketchbook left on her bed.  
She’d done these things with purpose. She needed to create a reason for Johanna to work harder at becoming her old self. She’d read her body language, she’d heard the tone and she knew what Johanna wanted from her; really wanted from her. Johanna just needed an excuse to realize it for herself.

Four days passed since she’d dropped off the envelope to be mailed, and on each of those days she did not bother to walk past the visitor’s room, as she knew it was not the time to expect anyone or anything, but on the fourth day at precisely ten o'clock she stood in front of her mirror in her bedroom. She scraped her hair back and sprayed it down hard, then looked down disgustedly at her grey cotton blend. She leaned down to pull up her socks and tighten the laces to her cheap white tennis shoes. She ran her tongue over her teeth and chuckled at her reflection one last time.This was as good as it was going to get.  
She sat at the edge of her bed and stared straight ahead, waiting for fifteen minutes to pass so that she could enter the visitor’s room without looking too eager. 

She surprisingly found her heart pounding in her throat as she headed down the hallway. There was no definite way of knowing that Vera would be there as she rounded the corner, but she knew in her gut that the day after the letter came to her small house, she would follow through with the task she’d agreed to, just to get it over and done with.

Through the glass she could see her, small and nervously fidgeting with her fingers. She stopped dead and allowed herself to look from afar. Vera’s hair down around her face, her uniform jacket off and white collared shirt unbuttoned at the throat. She’d made a promise to annihilate Vera once, but in here there was no chance of that happening, and so the only other choice would be to either cut ties completely after today or form some sort of tense civility. She figured unless there was some fancy footwork, the prior reasoning would be her one and only option. Her mentee no longer needed her now, but as Vera turned her head towards her and their eyes met, the anxiety she’d felt for months that had diminished through medication, therapy and sheer force crept back up. The elephant again sat on her chest and she felt herself take a step back. 

“No,” she thought to herself fiercely, “approach with care,” and she began to walk towards the small meeting table.

“I found everything on your list but they wouldn't allow your silk scarves. Suicide risk they said.” Vera pushed a small bundle towards her without giving her eye contact.

“Hello, Vera.” she took the bundle to her lap and waited patiently. 

“Why me?” Vera finally said.

“Why not you?”

They sat in silence for a long time, Vera looking out the window while she took the time to watch her facial features, tense and simmering. 

“How’s work?” she finally said, but realized it wasn't the right thing to say, then immediately spat out, “I'm in mandated therapy to try and fix me. Good luck there, right?” she let out a stifled laugh that was forced and fake. 

The silence that followed was deafening. She just wanted Vera to look her in the eye and make her feel something, but after a few minutes with no response, Vera stood up and turned to face her and finally showed the feelings she was holding in. The anger was there, fierce and sharp, but there was something more; it was concern. .

“Goodbye, Vera.”

Vera blinked hard a few times and turned to leave but stopped as she reached the threshold and turned, “you’re welcome. I'm glad…” she contorted her face to try and hide anything other than the anger she clearly felt, “I'm glad you’re getting help. I'm also glad you’re here and not out there.”

They locked eyes and she found herself nodding. 

“Thank you,” she mouthed.


	21. Chapter 21

It was coincidence that when she turned the corner to her ward after her short visit with Vera, package of clothes still in hand, that she saw Johanna steal into her room quietly and leave the door ajar. Anyone else who’d caught Johanna stealing inside would assume that she’d been asked to go in there to retrieve something, and pay no mind. Not that anyone would intervene, they knew better than to approach Johanna lately.

  
She approached her room slowly and peered through the rectangle window, her face passive as she observed Johanna sitting on the edge of her bed, her sketchbook opened on Johanna’s lap. She was surprised that Johanna had reined herself in for the past few hours to not immediately jumped at the sketchbook, but then as she looked closer the glasses she’d left on the desk were not there anymore, nor were they anywhere on Johanna’s person. She must have come in for the glasses, noticed the sketchbook and made a conscious decision to leave it be. Curiosity had won over though if she were back here, and it was fantastic, because this was exactly what she had wanted; to catch Johanna with her hand in the cookie jar.

  
She opened the door soundlessly and slid inside, closing it a firm clack behind her. Johanna quickly sat rigidly upright and transformed her furrowed brow and slashed mouth into something that could be read as looking sheepish.

“Enjoying yourself? I don’t remember giving you permission to go browsing through my things.”

Johanna stuttered out a few sounds, before snapping the sketchbook shut, then looked down at her hands placed atop each other on the black leather-bound cover.

“You’ll notice that there is a theme running throughout those pages. Do you have anything to ask me?”

Johanna sat in silence a few seconds more before the eyes that had tried hard to seem apologetic shot up to meet hers, full of daggers.

“You are not someone who likes mice. They’re weak with small bones and no courage. They breed without thoughts of the repercussions of overpopulation, and they are too easily snatched up by predators. At first the mouse in here was being punished for something, but I don’t know what. Now it only seems that you want to draw the mouse over and over but your feelings towards it have changed.”

Johanna opened the book back up to the mouse pitted against the mongoose. She realized it was a mistake to have referred to Johanna a single time in jest that the two of them at times seemed like a mongoose pitted against a cobra.

“Who is she?”

“I’m not sure if that’s any of your business, Johanna. Why is it important for you to know?” She took a few steps forward so that she was nearly standing up against Johanna’s knees.

“Because she’s important to you, and I need to know why.”

“You know who I used to be, Johanna, before I was tossed in here? What I used to be in society and my functioning role as a contributing citizen?”

“Yes.”

“That mouse used to be my underling. My protege.”

Johanna went to stand, but she firmly pressed the ball of her foot down on top of Johanna’s toes.

“She was someone who I thought I could trust. She was someone I stupidly thought I could confide in, but she betrayed me. I’m starting to see now though, Johanna, that there needs to be mice among us, and some of us can’t help but be those mice. Why, what would happen if there were only predators or prey in the word? Could you imagine a world with all of us as wolves? No, we'd starve or eat each other alive, wouldn't we? There need to be mice so that the wolves have something to hunt, but there also needs to be mice so that there can be some guaranteed vulnerability around us. It’s soothing, Johanna, having someone else take responsibility for vulnerability, don’t you think?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Johanna stood and shoved the book into her hands, bumping past her as she walked to the doorway.

“You didn’t answer my question though. Who is she?”

She held up the small bag of clothes that Vera had brought her and smiled slightly, “My visitor”.

“It’s that bitch you’ve been eyeballing on TV. The new Governor. Am I right?” Johanna’s cheeks began to flush red. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

She couldn’t stop smiling. The wild jealousy had brought out Johanna’s anger, just like she’d hoped. She dropped the bag on the bed and in three long strides towered over Johanna and took her chin in between her thumb and forefinger.

“You needn’t worry. She’s my mouse to worry about, and she’s nothing like you. You and I are in here together because we’re alike. It’s just you and I in here, Johanna, just the two of us in here.”

She leaned in so that they were sharing a breath and stared down into those buzzing brown eyes.

“You’re wildly jealous, aren’t you? You want me, don’t you?”

“Fuck you, you don’t know anything about me!” Johanna tried to wretch herself away and even gave her a hard kick in the shin, but she did not relent on her grasp.

“I need you to get that syringe. I need you to do a good job. I need you to want to be everything that the Mouse isn’t.” She leaned in and kissed Johanna hard but without emotion.

Johanna’s fiery eyes did not dim when she pulled back to look upon her.

“Can I count on you?”

Johanna nodded then bit her lip.

“I want to hear you say it. Will you get me that syringe? Soon?”

“Yes.”

“Will you successfully start cheeking and get rid of that ridiculous eye buzzing?”

Johanna drew her leg back again to kick her hard but stopped in midair. “Yes.”

“You’ll do all these things just for me, am I right?”

Johanna’s eyes softened, as did the tenseness felt underneath her fingers. “For you.”

She smiled brightly then let go, “Good girl. Don’t forget, Johanna, she’s nothing like us. I need your kind on my side.”

Johanna backed herself out of the room, then turned and hurried down the hall, her soft soled shoes whispering away.

She didn’t mention that Vera wasn’t anything like the two of them because she still had a shred of decency left about her. She was kind and decent, even if she'd cut her deep. She saw that now; both of them had been working towards the greater good, but Vera did not purposefully use people to get to the end goal. It did not necessarily make her a better person between the two, but she did leave less damage in her wake.

She also forget to mention that she wished that mouth had been the soft pink lips of the Mouse herself. Rough and without emotion, just like it had been, but when she pulled away she could have looked down at those soft blue eyes instead. 


	22. Chapter 22

Long after Johanna had left, she put her sketchbook back under her mattress and sat at the edge of her bed, with her bundle in her lap. She opened the bag and peered inside, her eyes crinkling at the familiar items she’d missed so much. She pulled out two pairs of pants. Finally, she’d have something with a proper in-seam and her socks wouldn't be sticking out embarrassingly atop her cheap tennis shoes. There were a few shirts, some satin underclothes, socks, and shockingly, a pair of knitted slippers. She never owned slippers like these, and yet the looked like they were the right size. 

The stitches were small and precise and the wool felt real and possibly alpaca, with little toggles to draw them closed around the ankles. She turned them round and round in her hand before taking off her socks and slipping them on her feet. She stood and felt the cushioning and quality and looked down still in confusion. These had not been on her list. She had requested the plain slippers she kept by her front door. It could only have been Vera that had placed these inside. She then realized that Vera could have possibly made these herself, her little hands casting on and following stitch after stitch. She had no idea Vera could even knit, or for that matter, why she would take the time to do something like this for her, given their history. She shook her head and then removed her grey sweatpants and t-shirt, then redressed herself, taking the time to inhale the smells of home and familiarity and the thing she missed.

Even in her most casual setting she still dressed well when out in the real world, and so each piece that was brought to her was expensive and of good quality. When she exited her room to make her way to group therapy, she reeked of good taste. That was, until one thought to look down at her feet, all rainbow coloured and fuzzy. She still had very mixed and visceral feelings towards Vera, but now when she had these on her feet she felt like she was, in some way, close to her.

 

Since she’d put her mouth against Johanna’s, there had been an immediate change. The buzzing had stopped, her pills spit out and dropped in the toilet to dissolve, and Johanna’s every waking moment seemingly became devoted to her. She chose not to take advantage of that fact; that she could likely ask anything of Johanna now that she truly had her in her pocket. 

Johanna had also, on many occasions, mentioned that they were not lovers. It was always when they were sitting in a quiet moment together, Johanna with a pen dangling from her lips, looking over the crosswords she could only now resume now that her faculties weren't dulled. Or at lunch, in the cafeteria, when Johanna was chewing while looking off into space. 

She had had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at Johanna’s comments. Of course they weren't lovers. The thoughts was ludicrous and slightly absurd. It was barely a kiss and it had happened only the once. It needed to happen to move along her process. Johanna, who was returning to the wild creature she’d known when she’d been admitted was, if anything, an entertaining character she’d grown to enjoy and need in her daily routine.

Johanna had also, on other occasions, repeated the fact that she was not her dog. If there was anyone in this ward that was a Pit bull, it certainly wasn't her. Her lip did not need to be bitten for that comment, but her eyebrows had always raised slightly. Perhaps Johanna was not a Pit bull, but she certainly possessed the qualities of man’s best friend; her big brown eyes always looking for approval; her extreme intelligence used improperly if not given a focused task.  
From the look of her, she decided Johanna was a Saluki with nervous aggression. That revelation made her grin to herself all that afternoon. She grinned even further at the thought of clicker training her devoted pup, just to see if it would work.

The only consequence to Johanna cheeking her medication and trailing along behind her every move, was that Johanna’s eyes now appeared like pin holes and her temper was on a hair trigger. If she said something to anger Johanna for any reason, another patient or piece of furniture would pay the price with an explosive outburst. It had been a long time since the orderlies had to drag Johanna away from a situation, but more than not lately she'd have to be spoken to with a raised voice and sometimes physically removed from a situation until she had calmed. The shakes she tried to hide from the withdrawals were only secondary to the fact that under her eyes now sported heavy black bags from lack of sleep. She looked a wreck, but not defeated.  
She was getting the real Johanna back; clever and devious, with a hint of wit and charm. She realized now that she'd need that syringe in the next few days, and so having back the woman who'd sparked her interest in the first place was well-timed. Things would go according to plan. She felt it in her bones.


	23. Chapter 23

She sat across from her psychiatrist, counting the thumb tacks in the cork board above his head. He’d arranged this meeting to discuss her progress and review the medications she was on. She’d patiently wait while he ticked off boxes on her psychiatric assessment and asked her if there were any changes to her mood; what things she’d noticed differently about herself that perhaps the nurses or other patients had not. She still found it frustrating that she knew he would always be checking off antisocial behaviour, borderline personality disorder and sometimes, depending on how her week had gone, mania. The last one bothered her the most. She knew she’d improved since she’d arrived. She knew that even if the list of her medications was lengthy and complicated, some of them had actually helped her in some way or another.  
She’d stopped hearing voices, even though that meant losing the last shred of her father; she’d stopped obsessing over the shadow child and how she felt devastatingly responsible. That feeling that ate at her gut day in and day out while her mind spun out of control had ebbed away and would only now sometimes resurface when she was alone in the dark. Why, she’d even chosen to open up to this new psychiatrist. They’d scratched the surface of her childhood abuse, and why she felt entitled to many things in her life. She’d chosen to do this because he reminded her of her father. Not in appearance, but in how he looked at her when she’d felt she’d revealed something important. His eyes would shine slightly in a prideful way, which made her feel both welcomed in this room but also ostracized because she knew he didn’t see them as equals, and he never would. She always waited for the reprimand that her father would unleash after delivering bad or harmful news, but it never came, and so during each meeting she found she could allow herself to reveal slivers of her hidden life, full well knowing it could it could come back to damage her.

They’d had an assessment review meeting a few times already since she’d been admitted, but for some reason this meeting had been slotted for longer than was their usual appointment. It would be the second review assessment with the new doctor. This tweaked a nerve for her to begin worrying slightly. The beauty of their meetings was that there had never been a change in plans, and so she knew what and when things would be discussed.  
It was already near the end of their regular session time when the doctor leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and tapped his finger to his mouth.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Johanna Clarkson. Any reason for that, given your history of relationship avoidance?”

It set her back. She wasn’t naive enough to think their more recent attachment went unnoticed, but did not realize that it could or would be brought up within these four walls.

“Do I need to hash through a friendship with you? I thought we couldn’t discuss other patients?”

“I’m not asking about another patient. I’m asking about you. I’m simply curious as to why you spent months in here hard in your little shell and now you have someone who you seem to trust. What caused that shift?”

“I find her interesting.”

  
“That’s not a real answer."

"She understands what it's like to be intelligent and misunderstood." She then stared hard with gritted teeth. A clear sign she was done.

"I feel like you’re not ready to discuss this yet, but between you and me, Clarkson has a history of attaching herself to older women and developing obsessive and deeply troublesome relationships with them. Just beware. Guard yourself if you’re going into this thinking you’ve found yourself a new friend.”

She smiled tightly and nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”

Like she wasn’t aware of what she was dealing with.

He let them know that the meeting had been extended because they were welcoming an occupational therapist to the hospital who would be instituting some new privilege programs. He had wanted to discuss this with her since she was here in a position that was unlike a lot of the other patients. She’d been court ordered here for being deemed criminally insane, and so having the privilege to leave the grounds, for example, would never be allowed. He said he was unwilling to discuss this any further in terms of changing his mind, but wanted her to be aware when there was a meeting that she was to remain calm. Wristbands of different colours, which meant different privileges, would be passed out and he wanted her to know beforehand that she would not be receiving one because of the conditions of her stay. He thought that pre-warning her was the best way to go.

“You can argue for an appeal on that decision, but as your doctor and head of your wellness team, I still believe that you are unable to be allowed on even a supervised day pass. That doesn’t mean you can’t work towards other privileges, though. I’m sure you’ll find many of them appealing.”

She bit the inside of her lip until she could taste blood. She might as well be in prison. She could feel the blood boiling inside her and forced herself to stay calm, and in doing so she also carved angry red crescents into her palms.

“I understand. Are we through?” She spit out the words with such controlled force that her doctor sat up a bit straighter in his chair.

“Yes, I assume we are. Please remember what we discussed. If you feel you need to talk to me when the occupational therapist gets here, please asked the head nurse to schedule you in for an emergency appointment. Please, don’t see this as further punishment. It’s only for your own safety and the safety of others.”

Her nostrils flared as she pushed the chair backwards as she stood up. She’d finally gained some power within here, felt she’d found her place in a strange hierarchy and now this. She’d be removed from the ranks like that and slotted again at the bottom. Something would have to be done. The Doctor would need convincing. She needed a bracelet in this carnival sideshow.


	24. Chapter 24

To gain access to these new privileges she had to sign up for tasks on the new giant whiteboard placed in the middle of the community room.  
If you decided you’d be responsible for stripping your own sheets you earned half a point. If you signed up to sweep and dust the chapel, you earned two points. There were others tasks like doing the cafeteria dishes or helping run the library, but those did not interest her that much. She chose the things that would allow her some slotted time alone to think and breathe.

Once you earned 10 points you earned a library trip. She knew she’d never be able to get on that hospital bus, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t rack up all the points she’d need when she eventually convinced the wellness team that she deserved to be out among the “norms”.  
It didn’t take long for her to realize that most of the patients didn’t care much for the bracelet system either because it divided them even more. When you were already an in-patient in a secure psychiatric hospital there was clearly already a giant neon sign that divided the haves from the have-nots: You were deemed unsafe to be with the general population, which removed your freedom; you were deemed unfit to stand trial which removed your option to a fair and reasonable legal proceeding; you were deemed psychotic or suicidal or a lunatic which removed your ability to be believable and trustworthy. Once in here you were a have-not with removed agency. So many labels were slapped on your forehead once admitted, that being once again divided by the ability to perform tasks or understand the importance of gained independence, had the possibility to cause a rift.

The occupational therapist had come in with the integrity and sweet face that comes with youth that has yet to be jaded; a squat, dowdy thing that looked young enough to have just fallen out of grad school. She seemed so driven and hopeful in the things she listed in her PowerPoint that it was almost sweet.  
She slouched down in her chair to listen and watch the reactions around her. Most nodded with expressions of dumb animals, smiling stupidly. They didn’t see that with a program like this, comes the false feeling that patients had the right to expect things. False entitlement came from these programs, and it was a joke to think otherwise.  
She sat and sucked at her her teeth during the whole thing, knowing it all didn’t concern her. It wasn’t dangling a carrot when she knew the carrot was not for her kind anyway.

It was right in the middle of a particularly enthusiastic announcement about the potential for day passes or being downgraded to a medium secure unit, if a patient could prove without a doubt they could manage, that she felt the need to speak up.

"What if there has never been a reasonable doubt that an individual should be downgraded?" She voiced herself in such a way that she sounded genuinely confused, and not ready to throw a smoke bomb in the room.

"Should an arsonist be allowed a day trip?"

The occupational therapist scrambled to think of an answer, "we think rehabilitation is possible for certain individuals, not all of them. Certain patients are in here for their own safety."

"What about someone who has killed a nurse? This ward isn't as bad as some of the others I've heard of. I heard a pregnant nurse was killed a few years ago in another wing. Would they be allowed to enter the program? Shouldn't everyone be given the same opportunities?"

"Ma'am, I don't think you understand the purpose of this program."

She scoffed. "Oh, I understand. Listen, girls, they want to remind us who's worthy. Our past actions will never be erased, isn't that right? What if someone escapes on a day trip? Will the trips be stopped? What if someone harms an escort? Will that mean increased security? What makes you think that someone will not just explode when given the chance outside these walls?"

A nurse that had been standing by the door gave her a look and reached around the corner for the phone, she could see the nurse mumble something into the receiver, but she didn't care.

"Are these programs being instituted so that certain patients can be downgraded and therefore are less of a financial burden to the system? A patient in here costs the government quite a lot. If we play nice, we'll get our sweet reward? What about those who don't want to be downgraded? Will they be given a choice?" She spit out question after question until the therapist looked genuinely panicked. 

"I think that these programs," the therapist was trying to go through her planned speech, "will show you that they have succeeded elsewhere for a reason."

"Where? Give us proof." She felt comfortable enough to put her feet up on the chair in front of her.

The nurse was speaking with a ward clerk at the door in hushed tones, but it was clear this party was about to be broken up.

"These women deserve to be treated as human beings, and they're not." She stood up and turned to some she knew were mentally lucid, "aren't you sick of having white coats tell you what you deserve? Huh?" She kicked a chair over for emphasis.

The nurse and ward clerk came over and each grabbed her by an arm. "That's enough! You're done here."

"Don't let this delightful new program dull you into thinking they care about you! Fuck the bracelets! They're just tagging you like cattle in a grading system!"

As they dragged her from the room she only resisted to put on a show.

"You are not cattle! You are human beings! Get more information! Inform yourselves before you agree to this. Is this what you really want?"

As she passed the threshold the therapist had her back turned to the crowd and the other patients were talking to each other in aggravated tones. She smiled to herself with pride. Let them chew on that.

"I hope you're proud of yourself for that spectacle in there," the nurse reprimanded, "you're on lock down in your room til breakfast. Evening meal will be brought to your room. You need to calm yourself and if you don't, you'll be assisted."

She honestly didn't give a shit about the program. It didn't apply to her, but it did apply to Johanna. Now she'd shown her power in there, they understood she still stood high in the ranking of power within the unit. Besides, Johanna was allowed day trips and she was in here for stalking, arson and medically treatable bipolar disorder. She was dangerous but manageable. Johanna'd be able to go the library, which was the only place she wished she could have been able to visit. She'd be able to pass lists of books she’d wanted to read to Johanna, who would obligingly bring them back.

Information was power; knowledge was power; persuasion was power. It was just more fun to stir the pot and watch the aftermath than reason that she should stay out of something that didn't concern her. It got boring in here. She didn't care about getting a bracelet to the carnival now when she was just the ringmaster with her tongue as the whip.  


	25. Chapter 25

She twirled the telephone cord around her finger, tighter and tighter until her finger started turning dark purple. She’d dialed all but the last number, unsure if or when she pushed down on the last button that she would want to keep holding the receiver to her ear.

Finally, she reached over and pressed it then withdrew and stared hard and unsure at the little square numeral until her eyes blurred over. The phone rang and rang until she forced her breathing to go along with it in time; Breath in, phone jingle, breath out, phone jingle. She figured after several rings there would be no answer, but it was somehow comforting to know that far away in a poorly lit living room, a line connecting two places were attached. She thought of the little room with its ancient wallpapered walls and homemade afghans laying on the backs of chairs and sofas. It was not a young person’s room the last time she had been there, and although the current occupant could have changed the decor, she liked to think of knitting needles clinking together while small legs were tucked under her in that room that seemed frozen in time.  
She was somewhat disappointed that there was no answering machine, she figured there would be, but at the same time, hearing something so impersonal would have been worse than the never-ending ringing.

She took the receiver away from her ear and began to aim it back towards the stained white handset when she heard a noise and brought it quickly back up, biting her lip and listening hard without a sound.

“Is anyone there? Hello? Hello?”

She’d made this call in an odd moment. She’d spent the entire day in her own company. Johanna had been granted permission for a day pass with some other patients, and even though she enjoyed the quiet, it had given her time to think. She’d used the time to gather her art supplies from the nurse’s desk and sat down on her bed with her knees close to her chest so she could rest her sketch pad. 

She’d started sketching with a pencil and found she’d started drawing bare shoulders and neck with soft little hairs caressing the nape that had fallen out of a loose updo. It was just a female form with no thoughts of who in mind until she looked down at her feet, wrapped up in beautiful hues and comfort. 

“I’m going to hang up. Is there anyone there? I can hear breathing.” A small huff on the line caused her face to soften.

A chill went through her as she opened her mouth and looked down again at her feet. 

She’d pulled out her pencil crayons before and ran some rainbow colours through the wisps of hair then ran her thumb hard over them to soften the effect. She had so much to be angry about, but she found now she also had so much to be thankful for.

“I’m here,” she finally breathed.

“Oh.” There was a long delay on the line. “It’s you.” The voice was quiet. Not harsh, not angry. Tentative.

Her finger which was purple not long ago was starting to turn grey, and she relished the fact that the pain she was starting to feel was something to focus on while trying to have this conversation she didn’t expect. 

After she’d drawn the rest of that figure, she’d opened up her first art portfolio that her previous psychiatrist had given her and flipped it to the first picture of the mouse. She’s placed the pictures side-by-side and saw the difference a few months could make. The anger in the first picture was clear. The rage she had felt, the betrayal was palpable. She’d wanted to destroy that mouse. If given half the chance in the beginning, she would have torn her limb from limb and grinned down upon the grisly scene without a shred of remorse. The second picture was delicate and confusing to her on a deep level, and so she had to make this call.

“I just wanted to call and thank you.” she’d said it. She’d had to force it out, because she did not want to feel like she’d softened in this place, but she felt if she called and said it then she wouldn’t feel like she owed her anything anymore.

“You don’t have to do that. Really.” The voice on the other end was so small.

“Is it because you didn’t want to hear from me ever again, or because you don’t want my thanks?”

There was silence again. She started the unravel the phone cord from her finger to breathe life back into it again.

“Vera?”

“Maybe both.”

She sighed. She shouldn’t have called. The picture had come out of nowhere and had stirred emotions she wasn’t ready to have. She’d been glad to see Vera weeks ago, but it had been merely a means to an end, and yet small feelings had pulled at her since. Nothing obvious until today. 

“Listen,” she curled her toes in her slippers and tightened her calves, “no one has even made me anything. Not ever.”

“Oh. That’s kind of sad.”

The softened face smiled slightly as she saw the pink return to her finger, still marked with rings.

“They’re beautiful. No one else in here has anything like them. I’ve had lots of compliments. So, Vera, I’m glad you could take the time to make these for me. I...I don’t deserve them.”

“Truthfully I almost didn’t, but then I started knitting and my hands felt forced in some way. I’m glad you like them.” Vera had sighed, like she didn’t know where to lead the conversation.

“Maybe you shouldn’t call here anymore. It’s very...odd. All this is just so odd. You know?”

She nodded with no one to see. She knew how odd this all was. She was living it.

Just as they both sat in different towns on different phones and in different situations, she saw the door open and the patients who had been away start streaming in.

“Will you visit me again?” She had no idea why she’d felt the need to ask, but as she made eye contact with Johanna she cast her eyes down and hoped for a quick response.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think I should given our history. Perhaps it’s best if I don’t.”

Johanna strode towards her, a quirky smile on her face with a load of books under her arm. Johanna who looked at her only with devotion and understanding for a fellow social pariah, and yet all she wanted to do was to tell her to go away. 

“I understand.” 

Johanna stood in front of her, patiently waiting but staring her down. It irritated her on some level but did not want to be overly rude by telling her to leave. She wanted to be alone for this conversation. There was so much risk for rejection and it was teetering towards having Vera hang up and never speak to her again.

“I just wanted to thank you for the slippers, and I wanted to say it was nice…” she almost said ‘to hear your voice’ but she felt Johanna’s eyes bore into hers and she resisted, “to see you the other day. Goodbye.”

“Wait! I’ll...I’ll think about it. Goodbye.” And without a further breath, Vera had hung up on her.

Johanna dropped the books in her lap. “Her again?” The quirky smile faded and she turned to leave.

“Shit!” She looked down at the books in her lap and they were all the ones she’d specifically asked for and some others that had major potential to be interesting.

“Shit! Johanna, come back! Let’s have lunch together.”

Johanna stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn around. She waited until the soft slippered feet joined hers and they strode down the hall together. 

“I thought you hated her.”

She kept silent and continued their way to the cafeteria. She put her hand on Johanna’s shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you for the books. I appreciate it. “

She didn’t want to say out loud, “so did I.”


	26. Chapter 26

The sun had barely streamed in through the frosted window as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and let them hit the floor. She sat there for a moment or two before reaching under the mattress and finding the small hole that stored the stash of pills she’d accumulated what felt like eons ago. It seemed that in the beginning she was bound and determined to do what needed to be done, but she had found she had been side-tracked and a task she’d deemed important had gone on the back burner. 

She’d woken up in the middle of the night for no particular reason and blearily looked at the small window in the door to see Jimmy standing there watching her sleep, his face calm. Once they made eye contact, he smirked and moved on. The burning rage she felt for not getting after him immediately caused her to toss and turn all night. Just when she felt sleep take hold, she heard the unmistakable squeaks of the mattress in the room next door to hers. A room with a new patient, with a name not on her list. She felt bile rise in her throat and swallowed hard. She’d add the name without asking. 

Evenings in the ward had been quiet for the last week, which is why she had found herself sleeping at night and waking up in the morning refreshed and without the niggling feeling that something should be done; that those pills needed to be crushed up and used. She’d let boredom get the best of her, and she’d gotten sloppy. She realised when her eyes snapped open that morning, that recently she’d walked past the corrupt ward clerk without a rise in her heart rate, and therein lay her problem. She’d let him get cocky. The promise she’d made to those women and the reason she had gained silent respect was waning. 

The look he’d given her the night before had said, “What are you going to do about it?” He was playing with her, and she would not let this competitor win. She’d show him what she was going to do about it, and soon.

She padded down the corridor in her robe, the morning still silent. She’d smiled tightly at the head nurse who was filling out paperwork and continued on past the nurse’s station. She stopped in front of familiar door and put her hand to the knob. She’d been in Johanna’s room not even a half dozen times, and here she was again with a burning need to enter and demand servitude. She opened the door quietly and shut it behind her. She stood and stared at the sleeping body lay sprawled on the twin bed. 

Johanna’s hair was falling out of its plait, her face soft and unmarred by the stress of consciousness. Awake, Johanna’s body held the tenseness of a tightly coiled spring, but now she was peaceful. The woman had such potential in life: she was clearly highly intelligent, attractive by conventional standards, had a quick wit, and yet here she was. Her beautiful brain tricking her into following unwise decisions or telling her lies. Without her medication she spent a lot of time in a barely controlled manic state, and yet she did it because she’d been asked. She’d hid her medication long enough now that she’d once again become the woman who’d caught her interest the day she’d winked at her while being dragged away for unruly behaviour. She knew that without the medication, it was highly probable that a depressive episode would soon follow, and yet she continued to cheek. The two women did not spend a lot of time together in physical closeness since the kiss, but it did not go amiss to her that on Johanna's upper inner arms she sported more resent pink scars in even tactical lines.

She sat at the end of the bed and allowed her hand to caress the foot that stuck out from the bottom of the blanket, which quickly retracted. 

"Good morning."

Johanna rolled over and rubbed her eyes, the delicacy of her features contorting into a guarded look she generally sported. "The dew of the morning sunk chill on my brow—It felt like the warning of what I feel now." Her voice was heavy with sleep.

Her brow furrowed and she patted Johanna's leg gingerly. 

"Lord Byron." Johanna slowly sat up, "it's barely six."

"You're too perceptive, Jo." A smile found her lips. "I need that syringe."

Johanna groaned and let her head fall back down into the soft pillow. "Today? But morning medication distribution is in two hours."

She thought a moment. Johanna was right. She had to be patient just a little longer. "If you feel the time is right, then this evening. If not, tomorrow morning. There's been a new victim and I have let myself become inattentive."

"Can I at least go back to sleep?" 

She stood and gazed down with something close to tenderness. "Of course, of course. Sorry to wake you. I'll see myself out."

She pulled her robe around her tighter and headed back to her room. Perhaps, now that she had solid actions in motion, she'd pamper herself with a bit of a lie-in too.


	27. Chapter 27

When she rolled over, her head foggy from too much sleep, she saw that she'd overslept and had missed a decent portion of her group therapy session. The overcast sky outside could trick anyone into thinking it was still early morning, and not long after breakfast. No matter, she would check in with the nurse and describe symptoms of lethargy and anxiety. Not true, but invented symptoms were easy to describe and act upon if needed. They'd likely change her medication, but in the meantime she needed an excuse for not leaving her room since she planned on not exiting until someone came to check on her. She needed time to really think.

She pushed down the radio button on her clock and turned down the sound so that the classical channel played softly for her ears only. She rolled towards the wall and pressed her nose against the smooth surface, feeling her breath come back against her philtrum. Her brain began to plan her day: get up, shower, eat a simple meal so she did not feel bloated, go to chapel to fulfill her cleaning duties, check-in with the nurse again to relay any further symptoms she'd described for her absence in therapy, then hope the feel of the ward was right for her anticipated maneuvers. Best possible scenario, Johanna would accomplish a distraction large enough to allow her to grab a syringe and slip it into the triple lined sandwich bags she'd been keeping for this. Risk of contamination was high, but the risk was worth it. She did not trust Johanna to swipe the much needed tool, which is why she left the acting up to her. Worst possible scenario, Johanna would get tackled seconds in to her shenannigans and the syringe would have to wait. This was not what she wanted at all. In fact, the thought of this not going according to plan gave her actual anxiety. Her pulse raced and she closed her eyes and pressed her face harder against the wall to center her. I took several minutes before she felt comfortable enough to turn over and head into her shower. She missed real showers. The showers here had the kind of knob that you pushed and warm water came out in a dribble until the compressed button ran out and the water dried up. If you wanted water again, you pressed the button down again. It made it cheaper and less likely for a patient to stand and waste water that way, but it was a real luxury that she needed to feel normal. People took steaming water and good pressure for granted. Another reason why being in here reminded her that she was no longer at home, not even when she was naked and alone under a stream of water when she could have closed her eyes and pretended.

She had prowled the halls alone that morning, eyeing the nurses and getting a feel of the temperament within the walls. If it was not the right time, and if she felt that something was not right, she knew that today would not be the day where she would start to lay plans on bringing down the man who had made the darkness his friend, and took advantage of the empty halls and sleeping weak. She'd hope for better luck tomorrow.  
From what she’d gathered, and because of the weather, most staff and patients were in a bit of a slump. Outside the windows there had been a steady course of mist and greyness for days which had made everyone slightly complacent. No one gave her much mind as she used her peripherals to scan everything around her, and as she stood in common gathering places to watch and listen, it seemed that only those who were regularly an issue were keyed up. That meant, from her experience, that the staff would be sloppy as they expected a quiet day with minimal disruptions. She decided, with some swelling excitement, that today would be the day, and at evening medication allotment, she would give Johanna the signal that she was ready to cash in on her request. They’d agreed that on the day, she’d wait for Johanna and when they made eye contact, she’d blink twice slowly and purse her lips. No one would know that it meant she’d given the request to let the dog off the chain.

She'd chosen to be responsible for chapel clean-up because it was quiet and it allowed her to sing quietly to herself where no one would notice. She had a beautiful voice, but never used it around others. She had not done more than sing in her own head for at least a decade before she'd been admitted here. Time and boredom will sometimes dig out some old interests it seemed.  
She'd have a roll of paper towels, some organic cleaning solution and a duster. She could take as long as liked as long as it did not interfere with her other scheduled activities. She had begged for a can of Pledge after the first three sessions, and signed happily when it was finally provided. She could use a rag and wipe every single wooden surface to the highest shine possible. The weak light in that space still made the wood sparkle and the lemon smell brought her peace.  
It was a time when she was polishing the altar that she noticed a pair of safety scissors lying on the floor under a pew in the front. She walked forward and because no one was busy praying, she slipped them inside her sock. They were not dangerous, but one never knew when a tool was needed. It was very likely that one of the volunteers had come in to talk to someone and the scissors had dropped away.  
She continued until the task was completed and each time she knew, if there was a God, which she was sure there was not, he would be impressed with his house.


	28. Chapter 28

They did not sit together at dinner, but she noticed that Johanna’s eyes had become a bit wilder, her facial expressions slightly more unhinged than usual. At times, Johanna would be mid-chew and stare off in space, a small smile tweaking the corner of her mouth. When their relationship had developed and they began to spend a significant amount of time together, Johanna, the wild-eyed waif, knew to keep her behavior tame around her new confidant. Being older and less patient, she simply wouldn’t stand for childish or outlandish behavior that Johanna sometimes chose to act on when life became boring. Generally she got herself into trouble using her abusive mouth to goad others or caused a low rumble in the most mentally unstable patients so that they’d cause an uproar, but the nurses always knew who was to blame.  
She was unsure exactly what Johanna had up her sleeve, because recently they had kept their conversations light, and had distanced themselves from their impending task. She was leaving the disturbance in the hands of Johanna, and honestly she didn’t want to know what would happen. In here, everything was scheduled and expected, and to have an option of a surprise was a little titillating. There was no doubt in her mind though that after Johanna pulled out all the stops in aiding her gain access to a forbidden item, that she would be kissed by the syringe and have her eyeballs roll back in their sockets. In providing aid, Johanna would voluntarily be allowing herself to become useless and slurred. Sad really, but she’d agreed to it with the knowledge that it would be the end result. She was sure of it. She may be tweaked, but Johanna was anything but stupid. In a strange thought, perhaps Johanna was looking forward to a short mental break where everything was slow and nothing hurt.

Medication was passed out precisely at 7:00 p.m. every night, and the lull in the halls and community room made her smile quietly to herself as she stood up from her bed and began down towards the nurses' station. She made a point of arriving for the lineup for medication allotment early, but happily took the back of the line, even when others offered her their space. She took inventory of approximately how long it would take to get to the community washroom from here from where she stood. In her planning, she'd originally had wanted to take her stolen item to the community room and hide it in a puzzle box, but what if someone else decided out of the blue that they'd like to piece together a broken apart ocean scene? Instead, she'd use the triple-lined re-sealable bag she kept tucked into the front of her waistband, with a loose fitting blouse keeping the bulk unnoticeable and hide it inside the back of the toilet tank.  
To leave the syringe out in the open would be a hazard, a risk even, and she was sure that there would be no possible way to pull this off again. No, after this scene, measures would be put in place so that Johanna would not be having any more outbursts. It was no secret that the staff were only waiting for an excuse to keep Johanna heavily sedated and this would definitely given them just reason to turn her into a living zombie.

She stood and waited, nodding lightly at certain patients who joined the line. Just like always, at 6:55 p.m., she saw a pair of nurses come down the hall with their clipboards and turned to see that Johanna had yet to join the line. The nurses began busying themselves; one rattling around behind the small window while the other arranged the files in order of the patients in the line.  
She shuffled as the first patient had tipped back her small paper cup and left to go about her business. She moved ahead again, and once more and still no Johanna. She kept her face passive as her insides turned hot. In another two minutes she would be at the head of the line. The woman in front of her was a known diabetic, which is exactly why she chose this position in the first place. She couldn't move to the back of the line again now to buy herself more time, because it wouldn't go along with the order of things. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the nurse prepping the syringe with the insulin and she swallowed hard and came to terms that Johanna had backed out and she'd have to go back to the drawing board. Then just as she gave up hope, she smelled smoke.


	29. Chapter 29

A quick look over her shoulder led her to turn her entire body around in a snap. Smoke was starting to snake out of a bedroom down the hall. A smoke alarm went off seconds later and then the sprinklers went off. She'd thought it off a few days ago when Johanna had told her she'd acquired some turpentine on an outing as a gift, but she wouldn't give it to her til the time was right. No one would sell an arsonist a known fire accelerate, would they? The chaperones on the trips would have known her background, and anytime she'd asked at the nurses station for turpentine so she could do oil painting, they'd always refused.  
The second the sprinklers went off, the staff went into action mode. It did not take long for chaos to reign, since the staff had been tricked into a relaxed state lately. A few raised voices, while others tried to keep the patients under control physically. The screeching alarm had caused a few patients to scream and bang their heads against the wall, which in turn upset the others. Some tried to physically act out because of both the irritant and the disruption to their normal routine, and some minor skirmishes broke out in the ward. She stayed pressed up against the wall so she could see in both directions, and did not exit the medication line-up. She saw that the nurse still had the syringe in her hand, and she kept her eye on the prize but she couldn't help but wonder; where was Johanna?

Just then, there was small explosion from the room and the thin line of smoke turned into a wave that barreled out, all in a matter of seconds. A few of the patients screamed and scattered from the medication line-up, all while the staff tried hard to keep everything organized and everyone calm. It felt like an eternity from the first smell of smoke to now, but it had been mere minutes. She noticed that the calm face the nurse sported disappeared and her hand began to shake. She took a small step forward. The woman ahead of her had long ran, and so the syringe still held a full dose of insulin. That could prove to be a useful addition for her.

A young orderly had grabbed a fire extinguisher and with a head down, headed to the smoke that was billowing out. The hero of the hour, or so he thought. She couldn't help the smirk that was eating up her face as she saw a long string of misery come running with her head down like a battering ram from the room, oddly sporting swim goggles and a handkerchief over her nose and mouth. Johanna plowed into the orderly and knocked the fire extinguisher out of his hands. She picked it up and put the hose right in his face with the body language of intent, but then let it drop and pulled down the handkerchief and goggles.

"You stupid fuckers shouldn't leave batteries out for nut jobs to get their hands on." She let out a delighted squeal mixed with a strained cough, then gave the downed orderly a forceful kick in the ribs before she started running towards the medication line-up, holding the extinguisher hose out ahead of her, beginning to wildly spray whatever was in her path. 

The cacophony of screams, delighted squeals and yelling from staff and patients alike led her to put her hands over her ears, while watching what was going on in front of her. Three large orderlies came storming in from another ward and were aiming, like footballers, to take down the immediate threat. A call must have been made immediately on the walkies because in no time at all, because then a doctor came in behind them, yelling at the top of his lungs for the nurses to get a sedative ready. Johanna heard this and spun around, her face a in grotesque growl as she began the spray towards the hulks running at her. She didn't want to take her eyes away, but when she did she saw the nurse had dropped the syringe in her hubbub, just like she'd hoped, to go draw another syringe for the wild animal in front of them. The nuthouse then was truly a nuthouse. 

She slowly took the baggie from her waistband and with haste dropped the syringe in as soon as the nurses' backs were to her, then slipped towards to the bathroom. No one took notice of her in the commotion since she had behaved the entire time. It felt like she moved in slow motion, like a panther, while the scene in front of her rolled out. She took one look over her shoulder as she saw Johanna tackled to the ground, the extinguisher ripped from her hands, and gasp for breath as the knee keeping her down ground into her back, while her pants were unceremoniously pulled down and the syringe rammed into her barely meaty buttocks. Their eyes met for a brief moment and she nodded at her with approval. Johanna's thrashing soon abated in moments and as she turned to go drop the bag into the hiding place, she heard Johanna let out one long and low dog-like howl before she went quiet. She'd done her job perfectly. Good girl.


	30. Chapter 30

She'd spent two days in near silence. After the incident near the nurses' station, the higher-ups had deemed it necessary to remove all social privileges for 48 hours unless it was during meal or therapy. Medication didn't arrive immediately as it would if one waited in the line-up, because it was expected you waited outside your room door for your prescriptions. They'd brought up two more nurses from another ward for that.  
No one was to be in another's room, and certainly no group congregation, since it was assumed with such a monumental breech of security and chaos, there must have been some planning involved. The community room had remained silent, the television turned off. No one suspected her, or at least no one had pulled her aside for questioning.  
Her room had been paced for hours during that time, and occasionally she would stand at the mirror and stare. Once someone stares at themselves long enough they can detach themselves from what they are looking at; who they are looking at. This was not the first time. Countless times she'd retracted into herself and just look at her pores, a nostril, just bits and pieces of a face she'd worn for her entire existence and sometimes she would notice a new crack or a new line and she'd be surprised that her face could bore more damage. She'd reach up to trace the line and find she'd startle herself when the pads of her fingers would touch her own skin. How she craved touch. How the utter silence could remind her how alone she truly was and how numb she let herself become when anyone tried to connect. Loneliness could eat away at someone in here.  
It didn't matter that she'd hardest task when she could not move forward, and so it she found it extremely difficult to plan ahead into the future when there was too much time to dwell on the past. What had happened to Johanna? She looked down at her feet and wondered too about the mouse and what she might be up to; if she was on shift and how that could have looked under her watch. Perhaps she wasn't such a terrible Governor; perhaps not after she'd been hardened and angry near the end of their working relationship. Would Johanna be angry at her when they saw each other again?  
She thought about her father for the first time in weeks in that time period as well. She thought about his life as she knew him, how he'd molded her, and about his death. She wondered if he'd been a lonely man. He'd certainly taught her how to build up a wall and alienate those who were not deemed worthy. How few seemed worthy after his training. 

The third day after she had a syringe in her possession, she sat in a session with her therapist and most of what he said came at her muted and distant. She knew after this early morning forced slotting, so could go looking for Johanna. She'd not been present in the last two days in the meal hall and so her mind wandered. She figured the staff had done that on purpose, to separate those who could conspire or gossip, and so she was anxious to speak to Johanna and see how she was.  
Eventually she noticed the therapist was sitting back, his legs crossed and staring at the ceiling in exasperation. It took him tossing his clipboard onto the side table with a clatter that truly got her to sit up and pay attention.  
"I capitulate. You're not hearing a word I'm saying, and it's not because you're going through a new prescription cycle. What's going on?"  
"I was thinking about the fire the other day."  
He tapped his pencil to his mouth a few times and then pursed his lips, "because of the fire you set at the prison? Did it strike a cord?"  
She almost threw an insult, but chose to hold it inside, "no, I was thinking about Clarkson and her proclivities for arson."  
"No you weren't."  
She shot forward then in her chair and felt the tension in the air, the unprofessional irritation she heard in his voice to let her know he actually wanted to know what was going on with her. "How would you know?"  
"You've been flaring your nostrils and biting the corner of your bottom lip. From what I've noticed, you do that when you're about to discuss a meaningful relationship or a past connection. It means you were thinking about someone and not something."  
"Fine, I was thinking about Clarkson and wondering how she is."  
"Ah." He reached over and again grabbed his clipboard.   
She crossed her arms, closing herself off. Either he was extremely good or she had been slipping. She was unaware she gave off such obvious signals when her thoughts strayed from safe topics. Johanna was not a safe topic. Johanna was...complicated.  
"I'm not willing to talk about her. I already know your thoughts about Ms. Clarkson, Doctor, but I was wondering though if we could discuss what you thought about patient harassment caused by hospital staff?"  
"That's not something I can discuss with you. If you felt that was happening, the police would be the best place to start by filing a complaint. Where did this come from?"  
"Nevermind. I was just curious about your thoughts. Are we done with this session? I feel like we aren't progressing. Perhaps next session will lead to a breakthrough, hmm?"  
He sighed and gestured towards the door. He probably felt he was getting nowhere with her, but she liked him. She wasn't sure why, but eventually she wanted him to help her fix her inner demons. 

Approaching the community room she saw the back of Johanna's head as she sat on the couch facing the television. Her step quickened. As she rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of her face, it brought her to a standstill. Johanna's jaw was slacked and her eyes dead. She stared ahead and with great effort turned when she noticed the figure standing before her.  
"Johanna." She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what was wrong. How could she still be so drugged out so long after the incident?  
Johanna just smacked her lips together a few times, gave a slight nod of the head and turned back towards a the soap opera that was playing on the screen.  
Her heart went into her throat. Something was wrong and it suddenly felt like it was all her fault. She'd smugly thought about Johanna in a zombie-like state right after the incident, but like any other sedation it was simply a mental slog for a few hours before things went right again.  
She scanned the room to find someone, anyone, who would be able to give her more information. She quickly approached an aide that was known to divulge more information that was necessary, and asked what was going on with patient Clarkson. What she heard made her pulse race.  
"They gave her an ECT, eh? You should have seen how out of it she was yesterday. Today's an improvement. Apparently it's not supposed to last this long but I guess the anesthetic had a bad reaction. I heard it's from the mania; that her meds she was on weren't doing much so she needed a reset."  
The aide kept talking, but she turned and let her talk to the void. She walked over to one of the tables and looked desperately for a current newspaper. She threw things on the floor in her task, not caring about the clutter or the looks she was gathering and then she found it, along with a pen.  
She turned and with conviction headed over to the body that was aimed at the screen but who was not absorbing much. She sat and opened the newspaper, folding it, and creasing it sharply.  
"Let's start with the easiest one, shall we? Nine down - something snakes do." She smiled and began writing down the answer, then started the one-sided conversation with Johanna about what she'd done with her time during the lockdown.  
She'd filled out nearly half the crossword when she looked over and saw Johanna looking at her. She put the newspaper down and reached over and put her hand on Johanna's and gave it a little pat.  
"I see you still don't have any slippers, Johanna. I think I have a friend who could help with that. Let me see what I can do."  
She'd need to call Vera. She'd have to take the hit and ask for another favour. It was the least she could do.


	31. Chapter 31

That evening she held the alcohol-free mouthwash in a small cup to Johanna's lips and told her softly to spit in the sink. She helped her into bed and held the comforter up for Johanna to crawl under. By this point, Johanna was more cognizant, but she was very woozy and disoriented. Johanna had asked why she was so slow-moving and quietly wept a few tears. Her jaw hurt and she struggled to talk. It was before lights-out, but while they had been talking a dawdling evening walk together in a fenced in part of the grounds, Johanna complained of being exhausted. Her stomach growled audibly while she lay in bed looking defeated and small. She said she hadn't eaten much; it hurt to chew.

She sat on the side of the twin bed and hesitated, but put her hand to Johanna's cheek and left it there. Johanna closed her eyes and heaved out a long, tired sigh. She sat there for quite a long time, and after some silence figured Johanna had gone to sleep. She went to get up, but finally Johanna's lips parted and paused before struggling, "For two days I drooled on myself, and had a hard time thinking about where I was."

She let her thumb rub Johanna's cheek, "hush now."

"You're dangerous."

She removed her hand and frowned, unsure of how to respond.

Johanna sighed again, and large tear dripped down her face and landed in her ear. "When they had me on the ground, I could barely breathe and you didn't come to help me. I wondered where you were the whole time after I woke up. "

She swallowed hard. Johanna sounded so small and child-like. It was hurting her to see her like this. She was being completely vulnerable, and it was difficult to see Johanna not as a spit-fire and wild woman, but as a person who was in a mental institution because she was actually sick and needed help. 

Her immediate reaction was to defend her actions, "no, I didn't. I had to hide the needle. That was part of the plan, remember?"

"You're a selfish woman." Another fat tear rolled down, and she couldn't help but reach over and wipe it away. She didn't know what to say. It was not often that she felt guilt, but now it came to her in droves. 

"I...I followed the plan. I -" There was a pause that was painfully long. Long enough that Johanna opened her eyes and looked over to see why the silence hung in the air. "I thought about you too when you were gone. I worried about your well-being."

"You still left me. I took the fall. What do I need to do to make you look at me like I'm worth something?" 

She stood abruptly. She spent most of her life trying to avoid these situations and this was no different. Suddenly she thought back to so many situations where she'd stood before her father and thought the same thing: How hard did she need to work to get his approval, his love? Then she thought of Vera and Vera's wide-eyes, constantly looking for validation. Suddenly she saw how the three of them were all alike. It was an epiphany to her that were all alike in some strange way, just looking for approval from someone who seemingly would never give it.

She found it painful then, knowing how deeply Johanna felt wounded, to look her in the eye. They all called her a psychopath. Her file had said she felt no remorse, that her personality disorder was the reason why she was found insane and deemed unfit to be placed in a penitentiary. She did not argue that there was something deeply wrong with her, but was it psychopathy? She'd done enough reading to entertain doctors into thinking this was true, but right now she felt guilt. Egomaniacal individuals didn't feel what she felt right now. They couldn't, could they? She could easily ignore Johanna now that she'd served her purpose, but right now all she wanted to do was help her. There was no underlying reason to be kind to her now, other than that she wanted Johanna to know that she did find her important and worthy of her.

"Johanna."

"Go away. I want to be alone."

"You're right. What you said about me, you're right." She said nothing else, but left and closed the door silently behind her.

She was dangerous. She was a danger to all those around her, but mostly she was a danger to herself. She was dangerous because as a woman in her mid-fifties she had no friends, a multitude of enemies, and a past that was freckled with disappointments and heartache. Someone like that has nothing to lose. 

She went back to her room, crawled under the sheets in her clothes and stared at the ceiling for a long time. The lights went out and she still stared. She wondered if Johanna was still awake. She wondered if Vera was still awake. She wondered if when she was a child, her father, even once, stayed awake and felt bad for how he treated her. Probably not. She wanted to be different. She was not her father. She missed and loved him then too, even if he helped create the dangerous woman she was.


	32. Chapter 32

She'd barely eaten in the last week. Sometimes she'd force down some protein in whatever mysterious form and then feel utterly nauseous. It was a battle between her body wanting nourishment and then finding it couldn't handle what was provided. It was not depression. She was punishing herself. It was slightly sanctimonious, she was aware of that fact, because what had been done was done, but she felt a need to suffer in some way, and that was to have a pain and growling in her guts at any given moment during the run of a day. Johanna was still not talking to her. She wished she'd yell or curse or throw something at her so she could at least defend herself; be given a a chance to interact.  
She sat in the community room with a bulging pain behind her eye from gritting her teeth at night and bore her eyes into the back of Johanna's head, as she worked on a crossword. It was nearly torture to know that they were practically forced to sit in the same room at the same time, but no one was forcing Johanna to come over and rub her shoulders like she used to, or even look her way. She sat staring until her wristwatch let her know it was time for yoga, so she forced herself to rise and leave the space. She thought as she passed behind Johanna on the way out to the hall she could hear Johanna whisper "I hate you," but it was surely her imagination. Johanna didn't have to say anything for her to know that.

She had come into her appointed slot with her psychiatrist and took a seat across from him. While he was busy flipping through his notes to refresh his memory from their last session, not giving her notice, when she closed her eyes and forced out, "I need help."  
His pencil dropped from his hand, rolled off his clipboard and fell to the floor with a muted plunk. She reached for it, but so did he, and in that that awkward space with them both leaning forward while the pencil still lay on the ground he took the opportunity and said, "Tell me how."  
It physically hurt to muster up the words to tell him that she'd recognized a pattern of abuse. That she realized she felt most comfortable protecting herself and therefore alienating anyone who could potentially get close to her. She was broken somewhere in her brain. She had never witnessed healthy relationships growing up, and therefore she recognized she had no clue on how to proceed with one. She wanted to be able to build connections. She wanted to gain respect not out of fear or power, but for her good traits. Trying to figure out what those "good" traits were made her swallow hard and allow her chin to fall to her chest.  
He looked across at her, then put his clipboard on the side-table and leaned forward. "You're not a bad person."  
She said nothing.  
"Repeat after me: I'm not a bad person."  
She swallowed hard and snapped her head up with narrowed eyes, "you're being facetious. I've gravely hurt people. I am capable of great evil, and admittedly enjoyed doing some of the things I've done. Don't be so utterly obnoxious. Asking for help made me vulnerable, but it has not made me weak. Be serious. Tell me what I need to say to stop feeling like...this." He continued to look at her waited for her face to soften, which took quite a while before he repeated his question. Her defensive anger cracked as she shook her head. "I....can't", she whispered.  
Her doctor smiled sadly and actually reached over to squeeze her knee, "Lots of people in here are in here because they've made very poor choices. Many of them will never rehabilitate because of what they've done to others or to themselves in order to live with themselves. I do think people are capable of evil things without being evil. I believe you're a victim. I know you've done terrible things to others. I've read your file, so I'm not without knowledge, but I've seen you in vulnerable moments and I see that somewhere in there, there is hope."  
She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve as a few tears had leaked out, and felt ashamed for such a display in front of him.  
"I want you to do two things before our next session next week: I want you to look in the mirror every single morning and say something nice about yourself or of something nice you did for someone that did not give you personal gain, and I want you to write an apology letter."  
She cleared her throat to gain composure, "that will be difficult for me."  
"I know. That's why I'm asking you to do it."  
"To whom am I to write the letter? I've hurt so many people. I've used so many people and wrecked so many relationships. I don't know where to start. Besides, no one will believe me. "  
The psychiatrist put his other hand on her other knee and squeezed again. It was the first feel of closeness and security she'd felt in ages. "You're going to start with yourself. I will never read it. In fact, we can burn it together if you'd like, but until that letter is written, I can't truly help you. You need to start to forgive yourself."  
They sat together in silence for the rest of their allotted time staring at each other, and as soon as their time was up, she stood silently and let herself out. She gave him the slightest head nod in thanks before closing the door.

She went her room and stood at the sink, staring at herself. She splashed herself with some cold water and pushed her hand to her stomach as it growled painfully. She felt hollow now, and not just literally. She thought about all the people she'd had fondness for at some point. She'd killed, she'd harmed, she'd been cruel and vicious and acted with calculated turpitude. She wasn't a bad person? It was a revelation that this could be true.  
"I'm not bad person." It sounded empty and untrue but she'd uttered it.  
She lay down and heaved silently into her pillow. She'd spent her life either unable to relate to others in a way that made sense, in a way that brought her comfort. Every good thing that had come into her life had been pushed away and yet she wasn't a bad person? If she wasn't bad, did that mean she was good? She knew that one certainly did not mean the other.  
She couldn't take the pain in her stomach any longer. If she wasn't good and she wasn't bad, at least she'd work on not being hungry. Self-punishment would lead her nowhere. She went down to the meal hall and filled her plate. With each bite she thought about what she could do to apologize to others so that she could work on apologizing to herself. That one would be hardest of all.


	33. Chapter 33

She bolted in bed, thin lines of early morning sunlight dusting the edge of her comforter. Her eyes blinked against the dust motes as she heard someone sobbing. It sounded like it was coming from inside her room, and yet to her bleary eyes there was no one present. It took a moment, but then she realized the mewls had come from her own lips. Her mouth was dry and her lips chapped. She'd had such a dream that was both beautiful and painful. She'd been lying on a picnic blanket in a field with Jianna and the baby. He was a chubby little cherub that seemed to constantly have a ribbon of drool escaping his wet little lips. He'd been bare but for a nappy and she'd been smiling while leaning into him and blowing raspberries on his gorgeous little pot belly. He'd smelled of milk and sweetness. She could hear Jianna chuckling as she encouraged she and the baby to bond in the sunshine.  
"He loves you, you know," she'd said.  
She looked up and smiled widely. She was about to reply that she loved him too, but it all faded away and she was face to face with the night clerk. They'd been nose to nose in a stand-off. She felt disgust by simply sharing the same air as him, but in the back of her head she was still worrying about keeping Jianna safe and so she refused to give him an inch. She didn't want him to get to her, too.  
In her dream, Jianna was still alive, but just out of the picture. She was protecting her from this beast who could swipe in with his talons and steal the last shreds of her innocence and sweetness. She wouldn't allow it. All her muscles had been tight and wound, and her jaw clenched, a snarl at the corner of her lips. He'd matched her snarl, but his was that of smugness that can only come from a rapist, someone who had the power to penetrate. The angrier she got in the dream, the more his grin widened. She was infuriated that her power that would normally made others buckle was only seeming to amuse him. She'd launched herself out at him, unprepared and in rage and she'd woken up as he threw her into the wall with both his hands and laughed at her, "I've taken everything you've held dear and precious."  
Her clothes were stuck to her body. The last thing she'd heard was a ghost of a noise had been, "and there's nothing you can do." She peeled off her t-shirt and threw it in the laundry basket, then dug out her art book and went to the list of names she had memorized but wanted to revisit.  
There certainly was something could do and soon.   
Soon. 


End file.
